Light of a Fading Star
by seirios aster
Summary: AU OotP. Exonerated, Sirius Black finds himself trying to put his life back together while the war rages on. New alliances are formed, and old are renewed, in the name of defeating Voldemort.
1. Prologue: O Fortuna

"He's not there."

"What?" Sirius Black spun around, surprised that anyone was still awake in this particular ungodly hour of the night.

There was a first-year sitting on one of the couches near the Gryffindor common room fire, staring at him. She had paused from reading a suitably ironic Muggle novel. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. Why was she not screaming bloody murder because there was a dangerous escaped convict in the same room as her? Well, he was an innocent man who had been incarcerated in a living hell after being denied trial, but she didn't know that.

"The rat has left the building," the girl answered laconically. "You will not find him here." She set the book down on the table next to her and cocked her head to the side. "Why are you here?" she asked, curious. She was attempting to sound disinterested, but Sirius had the feeling it was an act, judging by the fact her hands were shaking.

However, he did not know how to react to the strange grey-eyed girl, aside from calling her Pallas. On one hand, this was probably the most civilized discussion he had had in nigh twelve years. On the other hand, why was she talking to him in the first place, especially if she was so nervous? "You do know who I am, right?" he asked. Maybe she was crazier than he was. (A hard thing to accomplish, according to Prongs.)

"Sirius Black, aged thirty-three, accused of the betrayal of the Potters and murder of thirteen people, former Auror," the girl replied succinctly. "Of course. I'm not blind." She resumed her reading, and Sirius just stood there in disbelief. The girl looked back up. "You're still here," she stated, honestly surprised. She had apparently judged him mostly harmless, so shrugging, she continued, "Well, I'm Gemma; pleased to meet you. Please don't say how I shouldn't be talking to you. The only reason I am is because I feel like I should. I don't need you lecturing me as if you're my father."

Sirius was very confused at this point. The girl—Gemma's—logic made a degree of sense, but even so, why in God's name did she feel she needed to strike up a conversation with him of all people? Did she not realize that twelve years in solitary confinement were not conducive to good social skills? "Why do you want to talk to me?" he asked, wondering why this girl felt she had an obligation to talk to him.

"I am to tell you why you are an idiot," Gemma declared hesitantly. Looking as if she were trying to remember what to say, she informed him, "Chasing the rat is not a good idea if your goal is becoming guilty of one of the crimes for which you were imprisoned." Sirius was about to protest (he did not have to listen to this girl a third his age tell him to not pursue vengeance), but she cut him off, "You would be better off convincing the wolf and then catching the rat. I recommend Veritaserum. Luna agrees, but she thinks it should be given to the rat. I think she's right about what she sees, though."

"Do you always talk in riddles?" Sirius asked, at a loss.

"No, but Mum gets irritated when I do. I expect my father would find it amusing—to a degree," Gemma replied, a touch wistfully. "I really did expect you to go away after I started talking," she admitted a bit nervously. "I could scream for a teacher at any moment. But you're still here."

Sirius glanced nervously towards the portrait-hole. The entire faculty of Hogwarts could come rushing through there any minute, and he was just standing there talking to an eleven-year-old. For God's sake, he could be back in Azkaban in little over an hour, Dementors and all! He didn't dare consider what would happen if he ran into one on the school grounds… and what would the Ministry do with him? Sirius glanced back at the girl, who was watching him expectantly. It seemed that she had meant the comment as a compliment, but there was a very real danger that someone else would come in and shout bloody murder, and that would be the end of Sirius Black's Great Escape. "I have to leave," he said as calmly as he could, but when he made to go, a third-year walked into the commons. Sirius' breath caught in his throat as he made eye contact with the student, and he braced himself for what came next.

"SIRIUS BLACK IS IN THE CASTLE!" the red-haired boy shouted, causing Sirius to turn and run back the way he came. (He wasn't scampering. Sirius Black did not scamper.) He noticed the girl watching him anxiously as he turned. He thought nothing of it: it was about time, really, that she realized what she had done. What manner of sane person would talk to him?

Minutes later, the teachers had swarmed into the Gryffindor commons and were making a fuss, but no one bothered to question the dark-haired girl who had struck up a conversation with a man wrongly accused of murder.

* * *

Professor Artemesia Vector could not sleep. She was sitting in her office, grading third-year Arithmancy papers. It was the same old grind, except Miss Granger had turned in her Divination paper by accident. That girl really did need to cut her workload. She was excellent at Arithmancy, but obviously shared the same opinion of Divination as Professors Vector and Sinistra (although Auriga was more denying her everlasting love for a particular dungeon-dwelling, greasy git than disbelieving in a branch of magic). Speaking of denial, Professor Vector was also in it. He had escaped, and pathetically, she couldn't face the repercussions of that maddening fact.

It did not matter anyway. She had carried on and forgotten, like the rest of the wizarding world. It was irrelevant. Absolutely nothing should come of it. He had betrayed them all and was found guilty. Even Remus believed it, so Artemesia held the party line, even if it might be wrong. She had long given up, so she had relegated one of the last men she had ever thought would join Voldemort to the last circle of hell where he could burn with the rest of the traitors, because it was simply not possible that he could be innocent.

With Miss Granger's paper set off to the side, Artemesia was about to move on to the next essay when Auriga Sinistra burst through the door. Artemesia stared at her friend, who looked like she had been trapped in a room alone with Quirrel again. Trying to keep a passive face, Artemesia asked, "What brings you to my office at two in the morning? Do you need help stalking various male members of the faculty, or is this a different kind of social call?"

"That was only … twice!" Auriga replied in an attempt to defend herself. She shook her head and continued much more seriously, "And this is something completely different." Vector did not like the look on her friend's face. She tried to take calculated risks, but she figured that it would be best to let Auriga continue, despite her hesitation to do so. "Black made it into Hogwarts, but he didn't do anything," Auriga continued. "It doesn't make much sense, does it? I mean, His Gitness is convinced of the worst, but you got to admit it's strange behavior."

Artemesia shrugged and replied cooly, "I don't pretend to know how that man thinks, Auriga. I can only guess he feels guilty. Guilt always made him irrational." She shook her head and continued acidly, "Then again, he cannot get away with what he did. I hope they catch him."

"Do you really want that?" Auriga asked quietly, having shut the door. "He has been given a death sentence. What if he really were innocent, as he maintains? He wasn't given a trial." She grimaced and murmured, "I don't think anyone deserves the Dementor's Kiss. I know I'd rather be put to death than have that happen."

"He betrayed everyone he cared about and killed thirteen innocent people! He is just like the rest of his accursed family, despite what I believed!" Artemesia exclaimed vehemently. "He can't be—I refuse to believe that…" This was not the time to have doubts.

"I know," Auriga said soothingly. "I agree with you. I just disagree with the new sentence, that's all." She stood there in silence for a moment, watching her friend. "I just want to know if you're all right. I'm here for you to talk to, Arty. The rest of the staff's worried about you. You've been off kilter for the entire year. Even the overgrown bat has noticed, and normally he couldn't care less!" Auriga grimaced and reminded her, "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know?"

At that point, Artemesia burst into tears, and Auriga realized she shouldn't have pressed the matter. Artemesia had been a bundle of nerves lately, and Auriga was the idiot who let loose the deluge. She walked over and sat down next to her friend, who then started sobbing into her shoulder. Auriga had a feeling that this was going to be a long night.

* * *

The next morning, Luna Lovegood was contemplating the meaning of table. Yes, a table was an elevated surface with supports, but what was really the absolute table-essence? For instance, what was the difference between the Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables in terms of their tableness? Was there some sort of inherent meaning? Could not an occupant of the Slytherin table get along completely well with an occupant of the Gryffindor table? Was it that they sat at the respective tables that caused the imagined schism? Or was it more of the House-essence that determined it? Also, the teacher table did not have any qualities particularly different from the House tables, although it was on a platform, so it may have a different table-essence due to the superiority complex the table would be given.

In any case, there was a particular dark pall cast on all of the tables today. Luna did not approve. So what if Black broke into the castle? He had not done anything. Whatever the reasoning for his intrusion, it had nothing to do with the students, otherwise there would be dead students. Therefore, the Dementors had nothing to do at Hogwarts. They needed to go back to killing the souls of the justly imprisoned and misfortunate innocents in Azkaban. Let the innocent be and lying lions lie.

The Ravenclaw table-essence was just like the table-essence of the other three houses. They all had dividers and yet were all the same. A depressing thought. Luna could not wait for Divination. Yet she could. She saw a Grim in her teacup and knew it did not mean death. Cedric had an arrow, and it did? Luna sighed. Too much was happening. She idly wondered why Professor Vector was sad and why Professor Lupin looked guilty. Professor Snape was angrier than usual, and Professor Sinistra looked pensive. Once a lion, always a lion; once a snake, always a snake; once a badger, always a badger; once a raven, always a raven. But a lion can be snake-like; a snake, lion-like; a badger, raven-like; a raven, badger-like. And all combinations. A lion could betray, and a snake could be loyal. A raven could fly into walls, and a badger could comprehend particle physics. Dogs are loyal, and rats rat out. One shouldn't bite the hand that feeds. How many more were betrayed and murdered from a certain point of view? Diana's lover was doomed to die from pride at the hands of a scorpion, and who would rage against the dying of that light?

Luna shook her head. There were more important questions to ponder for now. Also, her toast needed buttering.

* * *

_**Notes and Credits**: This story is updated once per week now, as it is finally finished (as of 27 Jan 2012). T__his story was started prior to reading Deathly Hallows, so not everything abides by canon__. __I would also like to credit two stories that I was inspired by for characterization of Professor Sinistra and Mr. Lovegood, respectively: **She's a Star**'s Lamentations of a Starry Eyed Twit and **Willow-Bee the Cat**'s Wizards, Superheroes, and Jackalopes. I'd also like to thank my beta-reader RaeynnBeau for all her advice and patience. I hope the prologue hasn't scared you away, and if you do choose to continue, I hope you enjoy the story. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Uncertainty

_BLACK INNOCENT, PETTIGREW GUILTY_

_The Wizengamot has found Sirius Black innocent of all wrongdoing in the case considering the betrayal of the Potter family and the murder of twelve Muggle bystanders. They furthermore found Peter Pettigrew guilty of all charges. Pettigrew had been apprehended at Hogwarts during the final task of the Triwizard Tournament shortly after Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Cedric Diggory narrowly escaped certain death at the hands of a revived He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Pettigrew has been sentenced to life in prison and is to serve the time in Azkaban._

_On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Black has received a formal apology and a sum of 250,000 Galleons as compensation for the time he spent wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban. The Ministry is also considering transferring the guardianship of Harry Potter over to Mr. Black in accordance with the wills of Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Mr. Black was unavailable for comment._

_Kent Waulker_

_Special Correspondent_

* * *

Sirius was still in denial. He was free, cleared of all charges. He didn't have to run anymore. That said, justice had required the Aurors have Peter in custody and two doses of Veritaserum to acquire the confession. The price had been twelve years in prison and two on the run. Worse, despite the fact that he was proven innocent, people still avoided him. He could not get his job back at the Ministry as an Auror because he was now deemed a security risk and liability—after all, who knew how much information he had given away while in prison and how sane he really was. Most still considered him guilty, that he had bought off the courts. Sirius found that particular allegation to be darkly amusing.

Those who had known him were more than ready to believe they had been right in placing their trust in him. Sirius didn't know how to feel about that. Were they happy he was innocent or glad they were good judges of character? It was nerve-wracking. On the bright side, at least he knew that Harry and Remus were of the former group. Though, he did wonder about … No, it didn't matter. Nothing would have come of it, so it would best be forgotten.

Sirius put the newspaper down on the counter and surveyed his old apartment. It looked almost exactly as he left it. Maybe it was a little dustier and currently without utilities (he hadn't paid the bills for some time), but nothing else had changed. He would clean later, once he looked up the charm for eradicating dust. The thought reminded him that he needed to get a replacement wand. He really didn't want to clean the Muggle way, especially without the aid of a vacuum cleaner. It was quite frankly embarrassing how little the general wizarding public knew about Muggles. After all, Muggles managed to live perfectly well without magic _and_ could do things just as well. He doubted Narcissa could even identify a telephone. Bellatrix would identify it as a "primitive bludgeoning device." That said, not only did Bellatrix identify most Muggle things as such, but Andromeda would use a telephone as Bellatrix suggested on her dear older sister. Actually, he would pay good money to see that.

Snapping out of his reverie, he picked up the letter next to the paper. He had a very good idea of whom it was from and therefore hesitated to open it. Sirius knew that wishing it did not say what he thought it did changed nothing. He opened the envelope and read the letter. Upon finishing it, he started cursing. Pacing around the room, he wondered if he was he the only sane man in Britain. Because, really, was he? He glared at the offending piece of paper.

He sat back down at the counter and calmed himself down. Tentatively, he reread it:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_As you know, Hogwarts is again in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher._ (This had been the point at which Sirius had started to curse mentally.) _The Headmaster immediately suggested you, as you are now officially exonerated. We would find any hesitance to accepting the offer perfectly understandable, and I personally would not blame you in the least. We both know that there is some question as to how parents would react to your possible hire._

_Unfortunately, if we are unable to obtain a suitable Defense teacher, the Ministry will send a representative to teach. You more than meet the requirements the Ministry has set, so please consider accepting this job offer._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_P.S. If you do accept the job, Sirius, I expect you to behave like a rational adult._

There was really only one choice, as far as Sirius saw it. Lovely. Blackmail and apology all rolled into one. Of course, the students might find it a welcome change. They had had some terrible luck in the past four years. A Death Eater with Voldemort attached to his head, a brainless ponce, and a psychopath posing as Mad Eye Moody? Of course, the only good teacher quit because prejudices got in the way and because Remus was an incurable worrier, which was a complete shame on both counts.

Feeling as if he was signing his own death warrant, Sirius wrote the reply. He would send the letter later. First, he had to get rid of all the dust. Finally he understood his mother's obsession with cleaning. What was that charm? He had certainly heard it enough as a child! After a couple minutes of trying to remember, he gave up and decided to send the letter first. It would accomplish more, and he could go buy a new wand, which would be conducive to cleaning.

Sirius searched the apartment for some Floo-powder, and failing to find some, he walked out the door and made his way to the nearest Underground station. A few stops and a transfer later, Sirius was in Diagon Alley. He first stopped in at Gringotts, which was a colorful experience in and of itself. Luckily, one of the goblins had a good head on his shoulders, and Sirius finally exited the bank with a decent amount of money from his personal account. He decided not to touch the family vault. God only knew what was in it, and Sirius wasn't worrying about bugs or mold. Maybe he could donate all the Dark artifacts to the Ministry or the Wizarding division of the British Museum. The latter seemed wiser, seeing as the Ministry might use whatever he tossed whereas the museum would put everything under glass and study it.

It was strange how little people noticed him, Sirius reflected as he wandered around Diagon Alley. Maybe it was because he finally had a decent haircut and a couple of square meals a day? Granted, he was still much thinner than he used to be, but he looked much less gaunt than he had before the trial. And, oh, how he had missed shampoo. He was never going to take hot water for granted ever again. _Ever._ Of course, people may have been noticing him but not caring. He would definitely not mind that. Not at all.

Sirius walked into Ollivander's, almost hoping that the man would not remember him. Sirius had always had a slight, irrational fear of the man. He remembered when his mother had dragged him into the store with Regulus and her when his brother had bought his first wand. That had been a very unpleasant experience. "Ah, Mr. Black, I've been expecting you!" Ollivander said out of the dim shadows of the store.

Sirius managed to restrain himself from jumping two feet in the air. "Uh, yeah," he said somewhat nervously. Irrational fear. Some people were afraid of snakes, but Sirius had to be afraid of Ollivander. Was there no justice in the world? "Hello."

"Let's see. Mahogany, dragon heartstring, twelve-and-a-half inches, correct?" Ollivander said, shaking his head. "Pity you lost it. I sold the last mahogany wand some time ago. It was an excellent type of wood for wandmaking. Muggles and their environmentalism…"

Sirius smiled and nodded as Ollivander then rushed about, collecting various boxes from the walls. He suddenly wished he could just pick a random wand and leave, but there was little chance of that happening. After going through what seemed like twelve different wands (from "Ash, phoenix feather, ten inches" to "Yew, unicorn hair, eleven inches"), Ollivander finally found one that worked. "Ebony, dragon heartstring, twelve inches," Ollivander declared. "The wand has the same combination as your father, if memory serves."

Sirius forced himself to smile. "Yes," he replied, unable to trust himself to speak further. After paying the ten galleons for the wand, he exited the shop as quickly as possible without seeming rude. Sirius quickly made his way to Flourish and Blotts after sending the letter to Dumbledore at the nearest post office. The old bookstore had not changed much over the years, Sirius noticed. He wandered over to the area on Defense against the Dark Arts and scanned it for decent textbooks. He knew which books to assign the first through fourth years (he was thankful for his good memory right about then), but after that, the choice of books was more a matter of preference. It finally hit him that he would have to make lesson plans and therefore would have to buy a copy of each textbook and read them. After deciding on the book he had been assigned sixth and seventh year and the text from the first quarter of Auror training, he purchased the books while being stared at by the cashier. Yes, it was strange to see Sirius Black buying textbooks about Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that did not merit the degree of staring he was receiving, although it may have been the various Muggle paperback novels that confused the cashier. Some people. He wasn't reading trashy romances, at least. (That was Remus's territory.)

Somehow, Sirius almost ran into some man he half-recognized on the way out of the store. From the murmured apology of the other man, Sirius figured he had been mistaken. Having accomplished enough for the moment, he went to go find some lunch.

When he finally returned to his apartment after some more wandering in Diagon Alley, there was another letter waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He set the books down on the couch, ignoring its coat of dust, and opened the letter. "My fate is sealed," he murmured, scanning the letter. Apparently, the Ministry was going to appoint that bigoted Umbridge woman if the school had not found a teacher by the end of the week. McGonagall was very happy Sirius had accepted the job, even if she did strongly advise him against antagonizing Snape, but that was expected. If he were McGonagall, he would do the same thing. Yes, he had been immature when he was younger, but, despite popular belief, twelve years in Azkaban would make anyone mature. It had given Sirius a lot of time to think, although wasting away in a cell next to Bellatrix may have accelerated the process. He did realize that McGonagall was really asking him to not hex Snape into another dimension. Well, he would just have to deal with that.

Then Sirius remembered the spell to get rid of the dust.

* * *

"Please, Diana?" Gemma asked her mother's cousin. "I swear I'll take care of it!"

The American witch eyed the kneazle-cat crossbreed carefully. It was a black monster that resembled a miniature tiger dumped in a vat of ink. "Somehow I do not think that your mother would approve," she said hesitantly. Why she had agreed to this was beyond her, but her _dear_ cousin had begged for about an hour. She wondered where she had left her skeleton keys (revenge, cold, etc.). "But I guess she would be fine with it if you took care of it," she relented upon receiving the puppy-dog-eyes treatment from Gemma. She had momentarily forgotten the presence of her teenaged cousin's friend and was surprised by the declaration following of hers.

"It's like a cat version of a Grim," Luna Lovegood promptly decided. Gemma grinned at that and went to go talk to the manager in order to purchase the cat. Luna gazed at the elder witch and said, "Where is Alphecca's mother, Diana White?"

Diana did not particularly understand Lovegood, but Gemma seemed to do so just fine. (Who was the codebreaker here?) "She's busy working," Diana replied uncertainly. At least, she thought Lovegood was referring to Gemma. Diana had no other way to answer the question, in any case.

"Hm," Lovegood answered. She smiled enigmatically. "I look forward to this school year," she announced. "There will be much Arithmancy and Defense homework, but more fun Potions and Astronomy homework. Divination will be amusing. I love Herbology. Plants do not good soap operas make."

"Has anyone told you that you make little to no sense?" Diana asked her frankly. The girl talked in riddles, for heaven's sake! Was everything she said in metaphor? Or was it plain gibberish? A thought then hit Diana. "Your father doesn't happen to be the editor of the _Quibbler_, does he?" she asked with a sinking feeling. It would make so much sense. Well, she corrected, Lovegood would make more sense.

"Yes, yes," Lovegood replied, spinning around. "Daddy has a very interesting job. I like reading. Gemma likes acting. Very silly, if you ask me. Rashness can be fatal, but she has a Grim to protect her. I do not worry." She stopped and stared at Diana before chirping, "You have an interesting job. Tell the brother I said hello." The girl resumed staring at the snakes.

"Whom?" Diana asked, confused. Who in creation was "the brother?" Never mind her job; she did not want to know what Luna meant or thought on that matter. A mite frustrated, Diana continued, "I don't know who you are talking about. I only have sisters."

"Not yours!" Lovegood clarified, shaking her head. "Really! If I meant yours, I would have said so! But you have no brother, so why did you think that? Gemma returns."

Gemma indeed did come back at that moment with the furry monster in her arms. "Isn't she the greatest?" she exclaimed happily. The cat looked greatly displeased Diana nodded her head to placate her cousin while Luna smiled serenely and nodded. "I can't wait for school!" Gemma continued. "I finally get to take Arithmancy and Divination!"

Diana shook her head. "Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked. "Your mother was driven up a wall by Divination. Trust me, I heard about it every chance she got. She wrote reams on how it was all mindless drivel. For instance, once it was predicted she would marry rich, and the next day a boy she later dated lost his inheritance. It was all very annoying, in the end. Then again, my oldest sister swears by Divination, but you know Demeter."

"I love Divination," Lovegood declared, contradicting Diana. "But there is less fun in the incense. I approve of teacups. Shall we take the Grim-cat and go?"

"Where to? Flourish and Blotts?" Gemma asked, with the cat now purring in her arms. "I wanted to see if they had the new edition of _Lord of the Rings_ in, but if you think we should go home, Diana, it's okay."

Diana grimaced and thought about it. Sure, it would not be too strange if Gemma walked in with the cat, but she would rather that they returned home. Glancing towards the shop, she decided. "We'll come back when you get your school list, Gemma," Diana said, hoping the compromise would work as she herded them away. "I just think that maybe it would be better to go home since you bought your… cat. I'll buy you some extra books, too, next time we're here."

Gemma was slightly disappointed, but she knew that Diana had suggested a better alternative. "Alright," she acquiesced. "You promise?" Diana nodded.

Luna was smiling enigmatically again. "What is lost is found," she agreed nonsensically.

* * *

Astronomy Professor Auriga Sinistra was, all in all, having a Good Day. The sun was shining; the grass was green; there was not a cloud in the sky. Her lesson plans were half-finished. Everything seemed to be going well. Arty (Artemesia Vector only barely stood this nickname) was in a good mood, despite her occasional fall back into the realm of self-loathing. Auriga figured that Arty would get better soon.

As Auriga watched Fawkes fly past the Astronomy tower, a memo appeared on her desk. She decided that her Good Day was soon to be a Bad Day (or, God forbid, a Worse Day). Auriga prayed it was just some random announcement about who was taking the Defense post or about student scheduling or about food schedules. She swore to herself that if it were anything but that, she would pretend that she had not gotten the memo. What, be more decorous in her dealings with the greasy git? Ha! She would never surrender until he admitted he was wrong.

Auriga then heard a couple of noises somewhat like the Sound of Ultimate Suffering. That boded well. She opened the note. Ah. That made altogether too much sense. Darn. Now she _would_ have to be nicer to Severus. Marginally. Auriga sat back and waited for Arty to come flying up the stairs.

She did not have to wait long. It was rather amazing, considering. The Arithmancy classroom was on the third floor, if she remembered correctly. Deadly calm, Arty walked into the room with a stoic expression on her face. "Have you received the memo?" she asked with a slight quaver in her voice. This was guaranteed to be interesting.

Auriga nodded. "Is it surprising?" she asked in return. "He was an Auror, you know, and with that family, I'd be surprised if he didn't know most of the defense spells by heart."

"And the Dark ones," Arty replied quietly, lost in thought. She started pacing around the room in a manner bordering on frantic. Auriga leaned back in her chair and waited for her friend to continue. Arty always continued; she never would say everything the first time around. "He… I don't know. How am I going to act? What will I say?" she wondered nervously. "I can't just go up and pretend nothing has happened, you know?"

"You could just avoid him," Auriga suggested unhelpfully. "Or you could be strictly professional and pretend that there is no history between you two." Hopefully the horrible advice would galvanize Arty's vaunted problem solving skills and get her to solve her own problems. (And, really, why did everyone ask _Auriga_ about these things? At least this wasn't as bad as the time with the Defense professor in her second year of teaching. That was a weird one.)

"He won't fall for it," Arty protested vehemently, "and he doesn't even need magic to tell when I'd be lying! I can't just avoid him, because then he will… Oh, God, what shall I do?"

There was a long pause in the conversation. Auriga had known that the two were dating before everything went all to hell and that they were definitely serious; she had even accepted Arty's unwillingness to talk two years ago, especially because of the circumstances. Now, however, it was much more important that Arty get everything out of her system. If she did not, Auriga would probably stop going to faculty meetings. Actually, she might stop going anyway. Hm. She would have to consider that later. "How involved were you with him?" Auriga finally asked.

Arty was staring out the window, lost in the past. "That night, on Halloween, we were supposed to have gone out to dinner," she said after a moment. "He was actually happy that day, which was so rare by that point in the war, and he swore he would be back on time. I arrived at the restaurant a little late. He wasn't there. I knew he'd been on duty that day, so after about an hour, I went to his apartment to check if he had left a note or a message. There was one there, but it wasn't what I expected. He was … caught the next morning."

"What did the letter say?" Auriga asked quietly and with reservation. Maybe she should not have asked Arty about all this, considering. Then again, maybe if Arty said it all now, she would be less neurotic in the long run. (Auriga was well versed in the art of wishful thinking.)

"That he was sorry and that he loved me. 'I won't hold you to coming to the funeral.' It was so bloody typical of him, the idiot," Arty replied in a stone-cold voice. She laughed bitterly. "He never did really think he was going to live very long. Sometimes I wonder how far in advance he wrote the damn letter. In any case, there was a ring sitting on the paper. You can guess the rest."

Auriga watched her friend pacing and glanced down at the evil little memo. The only things she could think of to say were four letter words best not repeated in polite discourse. After a moment of collecting her thoughts, Auriga finally said, "Arty, I know it must be hard, but you do need to talk to him. Tell him whatever you feel. Even if you hate him, tell him you hate him. Just be honest with him. I think you both deserve and owe it to each other."

"But what if he won't talk to me? What if he hates me? I deserve it, sure, but I—" Arty broke off before starting, "And what about…" She shook her head and paced more furiously.

Auriga paused. What was the real problem here? Was it that Arty was afraid of how he would react, or was it that she was afraid how she would react? Or did Arty want things to go back to how they were? (Auriga wasn't sure even she herself was that naïve, even if she did still harbor some fantasies about frog princes.) Was Arty still in love with the idiot Gryffindor, despite it all? "How do you really feel, then?" Auriga asked, wondering yet again what the hell she was doing.

"I don't know," Arty answered miserably. "I just don't know."

And Auriga thought _she_ was screwed up.


	3. Lacking Sight

"Vesta? I need to talk to you about something rather important. Not like what I'm going to do about Mum and her low opinion of how I manage my personal life, but something actually important," Artemesia said, sounding a little unsettled over the telephone.

Vesta White was walking around her kitchen, wondering what was wrong with her cousin this time. She sighed. If this tangent was another bout of melodrama on Artemesia's part, Vesta swore she would hang up the phone then and there. "What's the matter this time? Sybil predict you would marry an axe-murderer?" Vesta guessed. "Or did she predict that you would start stalking the new Defense teacher like that friend of yours, Auriga Sinistra, has done in the past?"

There was a foreboding silence on the other end of the line. "Artemesia? Please say you aren't worked up about that sort of inane babble," Vesta continued, annoyed. "Seriously. You know better than to follow that sort of idiotic divination. None of it ever comes true! That's why I decided to become a medwitch, if you remember."

"You do realize that most of what you say becomes true when you talk like that, don't you?" Artemesia replied in a deadpan. "And before you say anything else, no, you were not right about the axe-murderer thing. That was a tasteless joke. Shame on you for referring to a Mike Myers movie, Vesta. Shame." She paused. "And, furthermore, I am _not_ stalking the new teacher."

Vesta furrowed her eyebrows. Hm. Semantics. Splitting hairs on semantics. "Then what are you doing to said person?" she asked suspiciously. Artemesia was beating around the bush. Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. "Do these problems of yours concern this new teacher?"

"Firstly," Artemesia said in a defensive tone, "I am not doing anything to him. Secondly, yes, the problems do concern him. Thirdly, the problems center around how I don't know what to do with him. I have no clue what I am doing whatsoever."

Vesta felt like hitting her head against the wall. This news was not good. The last time Artemesia had been having guy troubles, said young man had landed himself in prison. "What's going on this time?" she asked tiredly. "Your ex-boyfriend break out of jail again?"

"Actually, he was cleared," was the response. "What do I do?"

Vesta tripped over the edge of the carpet in her living room, where she had migrated after a few circuits around the kitchen. "So he is innocent? Did he bribe the judges?" she queried, commencing the interrogation. Artemesia was not going to get out of this that easily. "What does this have to do with the Defense teacher? Do they know each other?"

Artemesia cut Vesta off before she could say anymore: "Vesta. He _is_ the Defense teacher. Minerva asked him to come teach so the Ministry wouldn't send someone. As to the former questions, yes, he has always been innocent, apparently. They only just gave him a trial, you know, but the Ministry actually never caught him again."

Vesta scoffed disgustedly. "It's horrifying that they never gave him a trial back in '81. That sort of miscarriage of justice would never happen here!" she exclaimed. "My God! The Ministry hasn't had a clue as to where he had been for the past two years? Disgraceful! Why—"

"Please don't go into how the FWBI or MCIA would have known exactly where a supposedly dangerous criminal was, or how your court system would have given him a speedy and public trial with a jury of his peers," Artemesia interjected. "I'm not in the mood to discuss international relations or comparative politics right now. I know your rhetoric by heart, Vesta." After a pause, Artemesia continued, "I don't know how I feel about him, though. What should I tell him?" Vesta wondered for what was probably the thousandth time what was wrong with her cousin.

"Tell him the truth," Vesta replied immediately. "You want to know where you stand with him," she continued, wondering how many others to whom Artemesia had asked about this. Knowing her… "Even if neither of you want to pick up where you left off, you can at least have a working relationship. I mean, it's better to be able to make mindless small talk than stand around in awkward silence during those truly bizarre faculty meetings held at Hogwarts."

"Vesta? Did I tell you about that time Auriga threw a coffee cup at Severus' head during the start of the year meeting four years ago? It was a moment to cherish, that was for sure." Artemesia mentioned before continuing in a faux-excited voice, "Now the amusement will be provided by yours truly and the ex-convict!"

Vesta stood in silence in the middle of the entrance hallway of her house. She supposed it was a good thing that Artemesia had slipped into the ridiculous stage of dealing with her "crises." The "humor" was a good sign; that was for sure. "Artemesia, you will not become the laughing stock of the entire school. Besides, have you even considered how your ex-boyfriend will react? He's probably just as nervous as you are," she reminded her. "Anyway, you shouldn't worry about it until you talk to him. Then, if anything's wrong, worry, but break the ice first."

"You're probably right," Artemesia said on the telephone as Terry, Vesta's husband, walked through the front door. He saw Vesta was on the phone and smiled wryly, guessing Artemesia was the one on the other end. She was the only one that caused Vesta to wander the house. "Well, I need to go do some more to my lesson plans. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Of course, 'bye, Artemesia," she said and hung up the phone. Vesta turned to Terry. "Three guesses as to what's wrong this time," she said as they walked back to the kitchen.

"Hm. Let's see… Could it be that the space-cadet is in trouble again?" he asked good-naturedly. Vesta gathered that he had had a good day at work. Terry had been coming home depressed for the past few weeks—Vesta gathered that it was because of Voldemort's return. He was one of the MCIA's experts on the Death Eaters, after all, and he knew the most about how they operated. It was inevitable that he return to Britain and resume fighting.

"Nope. Artemesia's angst has nothing to do with Auriga," Vesta replied cheerfully. On one level, it did not matter anyway. She would be sent back over, too, because of her experience with the last war. Terry wanted to send the children to his alma mater, so they would all be in Britain. The children would be safe there at that school, she knew.

"Did she make a major breakthrough in the field of Arithmancy and doesn't know how to deal with the press?" Terry suggested, taking a wild guess. Now in the kitchen, he was making himself a bowl of cereal. Vesta took a bottle of iced tea out of the refrigerator.

"No to that, too. Really, Terry, you need to be more realistic," she said. There were downsides to going back across the Atlantic. Terry would be in what Vesta and most sane people considered an inordinate amount of danger, even if all he did were advise the Aurors and possibly the Minister of Magic. The old key Death Eaters could recognize him for what he was. She still vividly remembered what they had done the last time he had been caught working for the Light. It was even worse—a double betrayal, she supposed—because he had turned to the Americans instead of his own people. Vesta knew he was only in this bloody business in order to defeat Voldemort and nothing more.

"Realistic? Okay. How's this: she's finally snapped and declared her undying love for Sirius Black, despite how much she bickered with him the entire time they went to school?" Terry suggested. Seeing the look on Vesta's face, he revised, "Fine, not Black, then. How about Lupin? He and Artemesia always seemed to get along rather well, I mean—"

"Antares…"

Terry turned to look at his wife with concern. Why was she using the full name? Unless… "Really? She's in a bind about Sirius? Mr. Sirius 'I-Dated-A-Different-Girl-Every-Week-Back-In-My-School-Days' Black? Because he was just exonerated and will never go back to that godforsaken prison?" Terry surmised in an astonished, skeptical tone.

Vesta stared at her husband. She had been under the impression that he knew. "You mean you didn't know?" she asked him, a little surprised. "They were in a long term relationship. Don't tell Artemesia I told you this, but I'm pretty sure he was going to propose to her."

"He really was that serious about her? Who'd have thought? I certainly believed I would never live to see the day," Terry said with a slightly melancholic smile.

As much as she didn't want to, Vesta reminded him, "Technically, you didn't."

The smile melted off of Terry's face as he looked off to the side and replied, "I know."

* * *

One day in July, Gemma decided this was a most excellent summer. Luna was visiting frequently, which always made for good times. Also, Gemma and Luna had convinced one of Luna's classmates to go out for dinner that night. Ginny Weasley: a Gryffindor; sister of Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, and Bill; friend of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter; potentially good Quidditch player. Plus, Ginny was a nice person. After all, she had assented to shopping and generally hanging out with Gemma and Luna, a brave thing if there ever was one.

Luna had suggested going to the Three Broomsticks because it would be easiest for all three of them to get to. Gemma had insisted on going to Diagon Alley, and Ginny had agreed. There were more places to eat there, and it would still be easy to get there (Luna had been more concerned with the Snarfalumps living in the fireplaces of the alley than anything else.) So Gemma was going to meet Luna outside of Gringotts, at which point they would go to Flourish and Blotts to browse the new releases and wait for Ginny, who would arrive a little later.

Gemma had just told Diana she was leaving and was now making her way to the Tube station. She liked taking the subway. It always gave her time to think. Sure, it was a little strange for a thirteen-year-old to travel alone (her mother hated it), but she enjoyed it anyway.

One of her hobbies was watching people on the subway. There were always a wide variety of people. A businessman would sit next to a college student, who would sit next to a salesclerk, who would sit next to a deliveryman. No one really stood out when Gemma first sat down. There was the (wizard) banker, (Muggle) medical student, Auror Tonks (sporting green hair; Gemma knew her name only because of a conversation between Tonks and another Auror about a month ago), a random teenager of indeterminate magical-ness, and some foreign tourists.

The decidedly nondescript man sitting next to Gemma was attempting to do the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper. He was not doing all too well. Too many Muggle pop culture references, Gemma decided. It was a little embarrassing. Had he been living under a rock for the past decade? The man filled in some vague literary reference that eliminated the need to find all of the pop culture words. Gemma was a little disappointed. "Do you have any clue what a four letter word for an 'off-the-wall response' would be?" he suddenly asked.

Gemma, although a little startled, replied, "How about 'echo'?"

"Right. Thanks," he replied with a light laugh, obviously chagrined he had not thought of that word. Gemma decided that he was probably a wizard, judging by how Tonks was pretending not to watch him. She turned to look at him and realized why. Well. He had a genuine reason for looking nondescript. It was ironic, to say the least, that she should fail to notice next to whom she was sitting.

"How come you aren't doing the crossword from the _Daily Prophet_?" she asked, pretending not to notice how the banker suddenly looked at her like she was insane for starting a conversation. Tonks looked a little confused, too, but Gemma had already learned that Tonks looked confused for a wide variety of things, the list of which included fluorescent socks.

"Finished it already," Black replied, only half concentrating on the crossword. "The quality has definitely gone down in the past fifteen years. If it gets any worse, I'm getting a subscription to the New York paper. How've you been?"

"It's been a good summer," Gemma replied, for the first time wondering why he would be on the subway. She then realized he would probably ask the same thing of her if she mentioned it. "Congrats on getting cleared," she said. "I told you not to go after the rat."

Black laughed quietly. "Yes, you did, didn't you?" he said, smiling. "Amazing wisdom from an eleven-year-old, that was. Or was it from your friend? Luna, was it?"

"Luna sees quite a bit, some of which does not exist," Gemma answered amicably. "But, yes, she said enough. I just put the pieces together and tried to keep Luna's sense of mystery. She has the most interesting way of saying things," Gemma continued, pretending not to notice that Tonks was eavesdropping. And the Metamorphmagus was supposed to be a stealthy Auror?

"I gathered as much," Black mentioned as the train stopped. He looked vaguely amused as Tonks then had what could only be described as a spaz attack as she realized that this was her stop and the train was about to leave. She did make it off, however, after almost tripping because she had not "minded the gap." Gemma tried not to laugh. "She reminds me of my cousin," Black said with a grin. He paused for a moment and continued thoughtfully, "Actually, I think she _is_ one of my cousins. She couldn't be Andromeda's daughter, could she?"

"She is Tonks, Auror of a Thousand Hair Styles," Gemma supplied.

"Really? Somehow, that's not really surprising," Black said. "An Auror, huh?"

"So… Where are you going?" Gemma asked him, curious. For some reason, she had never really been afraid of him. She figured it was because he still acted like an Auror—always seemed aware of his surroundings, confident, and amiable. Besides, she had always had the feeling when she was a first year that there was something just plain wrong about what everyone and the papers had been saying. Professor Lupin had always looked a little torn on the matter, and the story itself had always been a little fishy. But that story had been proven wrong, just like Luna had predicted ("Go to jail; get out of jail free; do collect two-hundred dollars").

"I'm going to a coffee shop, so I can do some work," Black replied, finally finishing the crossword puzzle. "It's a place near the British Museum; it's run by an old friend, who in all likelihood will not recognize me. I hope." The train stopped again. Black looked up and, turning to Gemma, said, "Well, this is my stop. See you later." He smiled at her and left.

Gemma wondered how everyone could have ever thought that a man like that could ruthlessly murder thirteen innocent people. She decided she would ask Luna; Luna always knew.

* * *

Luna surveyed the collection of new books. Nothing looked interesting. Nothing written by a witch or wizard, anyway. Mostly just romances and dramas and suspense and horror. No true fantasy—why imagine worlds with other magic when there was magic already? She was more interested in the nice, pretty comic books near the rear of the store. Most were Muggle-written, but Muggles seemed to have quite interesting imaginations. Science fiction was fascinating. She could barely contain herself thinking about how people could get by without the aid of magic and what the writers came up with to have them do so. Luna looked around, her mind drifting. Ooh. Sparkly cover.

It was an Astronomy book. Luna looked at it sideways. Hm. Interesting. Pluto was aligned with Mars, but Neptune was with Venus. Very interesting. Gemma was looking at the newly assigned Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. It was the one that had been used for a very long time, until the time of Musical Teachers. Luna had read it before. She was glad she had taken Divination and Muggle Studies. Much easier to blend in, become one with the wall. She wished she had a Fledermaus-mobile. "A wide selection, this store has," Luna said.

"Yes, it does," Gemma agreed distantly, still browsing absentmindedly. "I'm glad that they have a section for Muggle-written books. I love it when the illustrations come alive."

Luna silently agreed. She enjoyed the bickering and the dueling and the explosions. Speaking of which, she looked at the Muggle-written new releases. Ah. There. She picked up the paperback novel. It had come out in a year ago, but had been recently published under a wizard press. Luna smiled at the dueling figures on the cover. She wondered why no one fought with swords anymore. It was so much more interesting, but Luna supposed missing limbs _were_ rather inconvenient.

At that moment, Ginny came in the store. She noticed Luna and walked over. "Hello," she hailed them. Luna always found Ginny's hair to be a fascinating color of red. "So, where are we going to go eat?" she asked. Apparently Ginny was just as ready to get away from her brothers as Luna had been to do something other than eat milk and Honey-Nut Cheerios sandwiches and as Gemma had been to go out and do something other than studying.

Gemma replied as Luna stealthily ran over to the comic books, grabbed the books detailing the death and resurrection of the übermensch. She covertly sprinted back in time before Gemma and Ginny took note of her absence. Luna then noticed something different about Ginny. "What is it that you have been doing this summer, other than being driven up a wall by three immature male family members?" Luna asked. "I detect a particular aura of doom and gloom."

"It's called dust, Luna," Ginny replied patiently. "My brothers and I have been helping my mom clean up this old house." Luna knew that was not all, but she did not press. She would not want to remember loud, cursing paintings, either. She glanced down at the tattered red cape flying in the wind on the cover of the book.

"I must purchase these fine works of literature," Luna said and wandered off once more. Ginny would be staring at her like she was mad, but Luna did not mind. Loony she was and Loony she would be. It was a useful stratagem. Pretend to be crazy and become crazy, but keep sensical at all times. Yes. "Constant vigilance," Luna repeated. Good advice—bad advisor. Always a rotten one, the disguiser with lies. Yes. She hid herself with the truth.

The cashier looked somewhat disturbed by Luna as she started laughing to herself and deposited the correct amount of money on the counter. Her three purchases would last for a while, at least until the next _Quibbler_ came out. Hide the truth with the truth. The cashier handed the books back. Luna smiled as if in a dream and wandered over to where Gemma and Ginny were waiting. "I want to fly," Luna decided. "Let us eat."

The evening continued nicely. Ginny, who had previously had very little contact with her fellow Gryffindor, seemed to really like Gemma, who was the only one who could in fact translate what Luna said. Luna knew this. It was not all that strange. Gemma disliked to see the truth at first, so when it was presented in a roundabout fashion, she loved it. She hated the lies, though. Very much. Luna saw that Gemma hated the lies and what terrible untruths were weaved into them. Gemma would make a good dark knight. Personally, Luna might rather be a wonder.

Ginny was very amicable. Luna wondered if she knew about the Boggart in the drawer. Gemma would not react well to the Boggart this year. "Fear is the mind-killer," Luna had read, "the little death that brought total obliteration." Gemma would survive; she would not fall through the veil. No, the dead would not let her. The dead guarded that path, and the dead kept it. Luna had qualms about mentioning anything about the future to Gemma. She did understand too well. All too well. She would be Holmes, but Luna did not want to be Watson. Not when havoc would soon be cried, and the dogs of war were ready to be let slip. She would rather be a bird, or preferably a flying fox.

When Luna returned home, her father was reading in his study. "Hello, Daddy. I had a nice night," she said, intently staring at the fireplace. There was a Snarfalump in there. Very dangerous. But her father had it under control. They hated books, and the study was full of them, so many that even an oogle (a unit of measure for Snarfalumps) would not stray in.

"Hello, otter. That's wonderful. Where did you go?" her father asked, still working intently on the next issue of the _Quibbler_. He was very dedicated to his work. Luna found it encouraging. She missed her mother.

"We went to Flourish and Blotts. I acquired a tome and two sacred texts. When Gemma's cousin came, we went to eat at a nice restaurant near the National Galleries," Luna replied. "They had noodles. I had stir-fry and curry. Ginny and Gemma got on famously."

"That's nice, otter. What comic books did you get? I assume you purchased that science fiction novel you've been eyeing for a while," her father continued. Luna had to revise her earlier thought. Her father understood her very well. He thought her interest in everything was a very good trait for whatever she went into. Luna supposed she would either follow in one of her parent's footsteps. Either one would suit her.

"The chronicles of the fall and rise of the most super one," Luna replied solemnly.

"I'm glad you had a nice night out with your friends, otter," her father said with a smile. "It's getting late. You should probably go to sleep soon. We'll go buy your school supplies tomorrow if I finish editing tonight. Goodnight, otter."

"Night-night, Daddy," Luna replied. She looked at the bust of Athena on the shelf near the door. She smiled at the stuffed raven next to it. Her father used it to keep deadlines.

* * *

Tonks was a little weirded out. Her day had gone from funky to downright crazy. First, she had decided to make her hair lime green. That was somewhat normal. When she had boarded the subway to get to work, she had somehow ended up sitting across from the uncannily perceptive teenager _yet again_, never mind the man sitting next to the girl and doing the crossword. Tonks felt like hitting herself yet again. This was how her day started off strange. She, being an Auror, should be able to blend into a crowd, not stick out like a sore thumb. However…

Tonks supposed it was just her lot in life. She would be the black sheep of the Aurors. The rookie who was continuously noticed by a schoolgirl and could not even identify her first-cousin, once removed, while sitting five feet away from him. Pathetic! Sure, he was making an effort to blend in, but the most surreal part of the morning had been when the two had struck up a conversation. Tonks thought they were somewhat disturbing combination: hawkeyed teenager and former prisoner of Azkaban. She was so distracted that she almost missed her stop and had tripped out of the train, a result of failing to mind the gap, as the irritatingly patient voice warned over a loudspeaker.

She had gone to work, and that experience was hunky-dory, until, of course, she fell down the stairs. Kingsley found it all too amusing as he escorted her to the nearest medwitch or medwizard. Mr. Weasley made the wise decision not to comment as Tonks limped past him in the halls. She would be forced to explain later, at the Order of the Phoenix meeting. She would probably admit to the failure to mind the gap rather than the falling down the stairs.

Near the end of the day, she had received a note from Dumbledore, passed to her via Kingsley. It read, "12 Grimmauld Place." She recognized the address. She wondered why it was in green ink and why Kingsley destroyed the note after she read it. Then she realized the significance. It was the new headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It was a brilliant idea, but she was a little hesitant to set foot in the house that her mother had scared her with in lieu of the boogey man. She realized that it also meant that she would be seeing quite a bit more of her cousin. Lovely. Everyone would know about her falling out of the train, and then Dumbledore would remind everyone about the scar he had that was shaped exactly like a map of the Underground. It was going to be a long night, Tonks knew.

When she and Kingsley arrived for the Order meeting, Tonks had made the mistake of ringing the doorbell, which caused Mrs. Weasley, who opened the door, to be in less than a chipper mood. Tonks' cousin was glaring daggers at the undeniably loud Portrait from Hell and yelling at it to shut up. She suddenly wondered where he was living and immediately decided that he probably was not living at his childhood home. There was a fine layer of dust on everything, except for in the room where the meeting would be taking place. There, everything was spotless. There was a pile of books and papers at the table near the chair farthest from the door. It looked like materials for Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Good times, Tonks recollected.

She stopped midstep. There were very few people in the building, if the dust was any clue, so the new teacher must have already arrived. Tonks sat down near the end of the table and waited for the end of the world. Her cousin walked in and resumed making the lesson plans. Tonks decided that her day was officially the Most Bizarre Day Ever in the Sovereign Realm of Tonks' Mind (and the affiliated territories). Luckily, her cousin remained silent, and the two sat there, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Kingsley and Mrs. Weasley were talking about nothing in particular outside. Mrs. Weasley was apparently horrified at the state of the house. Slowly but surely, the Order trickled into the room.

And then Tonks's day went straight to Hell. Sure, the Order business was not happy stuff, but that was irrelevant for the moment. (It would be relevant once she was out of the room.) No, it was terrible what happened. It was horrible! Horrible, Tonks would tell you! Her cousin (curse him) told Remus about her episode in the subway. Her life was over.

Tonks felt like hiding in a closet and never coming out when she realized that her cousin was continuing to say embarrassing things about her to Remus. How did she know, you ask? Because Remus was looking progressively flustered, and Tonks' cousin had one of those annoying grins on his face. Tonks really wished she were somewhere else, deep space perhaps. Yes: in space, no one would hear her scream. Now, what exactly were movie-poster catchphrases doing in her head at a time like this?

* * *

Sirius was glad to be out of that house. It brought back too many memories, most of which he would have rather remained forgotten. He would have to continue to visit over the course of the summer, if only to sort out what miscellaneous items would be thrown out and what would be saved. He also had to make sure some rooms were locked. They were better off locked, for everyone's sakes. And those portraits! Why could his mother not shut up? He fleetingly wondered what had happened to the family portrait. It did not matter. His parents probably commissioned another after he was disowned.

The one bright spot of the evening had been teasing Remus. It was quite amusing that Remus had completely been ignorant of the fact that Tonks had adopted a look of righteous indignation when Sirius had started talking to him about said cousin. Of course, this realization had caused Sirius to wonder if Remus had dated at all in the past decade or so. It was yet another item to add to the list of Why Remus Needs To Lighten Up (established 1971).

Unfortunately, that train of thought led Sirius to a path he did not want to go down. Hence why he was back in his apartment, staring sullenly at the wall opposite the couch. He thought about the few months shortly before Halloween, about his idiot kid brother. About the funeral. About James and Lily and the betrayal. About how stupid and impulsive he had been. He had failed everyone.


	4. Never Really Left

Diana was a little concerned for Gemma. Just a little. The girl had taken to doing the crossword in the newspaper. She had never approved of Gemma riding the subways alone, but there had been little that she could do to stop the practice (Gemma could be a veritable escape artist when she was in the mood). Aside from that, Gemma always came back talking about who was on the subway—she was fascinated with some Auror named Tonks, Diana soon learned. The Auror was apparently a klutz and easily surprised. Diana thought she knew the name, though. In any case, while she worried about Gemma; the girl did seem to be able to function on her own. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

The teapot on the stove screamed. Diana turned off the fire. She would let the water cool a bit before she drank any tea. It was around noon, lunchtime. She had a day off. With a sigh, Diana went back to watching Gemma read some book or another that Luna had recommended. Diana wondered just how much Luna knew. Sometimes Diana could swear that the girl just _knew _things. Everything, not just inconsequential, random things, but the important things. It made her uneasy. Diana wondered if the girl had Seer blood in her. It might make sense.

Nothing had been in a good way for the last couple of weeks. She refused to mention, even to herself, why. It didn't matter. The reality was bad enough. What did matter was how her brother-in-law was dealing with it. Everything seemed to inexorably drawn back to Britain. War had decided to grace the country once more. The Ministry yet again decided to not inform the Muggles about anything. This was one of the few times Diana could bring herself to agree with them about the war. Voldemort had returned, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her job had just been to report any developments, and everyone was going back into the breech.

Diana cursed vehemently. There was no reason behind all of this. She supposed, though, that it was better to fight a good war than an unjust one. Damn pureblood doctrine! Damn prejudice against Muggle-borns and Half-bloods! Damn it all.

* * *

Remus Lupin was concerned for his friend. Something was just not right. The one person who had never (well, rarely) opened his textbooks throughout all seven years of school was _intently_ working on lesson plans. It was like something out of a horror movie, but worse. Well, Remus amended, it just really meant Sirius was either trying to ignore reality or facing it. The latter was like every time exams had come around back in school. Or a test. Or when he was still awake at three in the morning doing his homework. Couldn't ruin his image, Sirius had said. Staying up until the crack of dawn was infinitely preferable. The former possibility was much more likely, though. Remus wished he was not sure about that, because Sirius had a habit of living in denial until he snapped. Unfortunately, no one was left to pick up the pieces this time. Remus couldn't; he had never been able to. It always ended in a shouting match that resulted in them not talking for at least a month. Again, Remus had learned that the hard way.

"Are you going to just stand there, psychoanalyzing me, or are you going to help me, Remus?" Sirius asked him, not once looking up from his work. They were in the dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place; Sirius had insisted on being present whenever Mrs. Weasley decided to wage war on the dirt and grime entrenched within the depths of the house. However, Sirius would not leave the dining room. Remus guessed it had to be something more than the prevalence of dust.

"I think I'll psychoanalyze some more," Remus, grinning, replied from across the table. There: Sirius almost smiled. After a moment, Remus asked, "What's bothering you, Padfoot?"

"Nothing," Sirius replied detachedly. He paused in his writing and smiled distractedly. Looking up, he reiterated, "It's nothing, Moony. Really. I'm fine."If that were true, then Remus was definitely not a werewolf. He was obviously a vampiric kelpie that despised chocolate.

"For some reason, I don't believe a word of that," Remus replied cheerfully as Sirius scowled. If his friend's expression was not proof, Remus did not know what was. Even without Sirius' reaction, Remus knew his friend was in a bad way. It had been about fourteen years, but Sirius still blamed himself for the deaths of James and Lily. The man had not had a chance to properly grieve, although he may have acclimated himself to the idea that James and Lily were dead. Grief would have been tantamount to suicide in Azkaban. Before all that, there had been the whole ordeal with the Ministry Inquest. That had been terrible. Even James had not been able to get through to Sirius for upwards of a week. And then the funeral… Remus grimaced.

Apparently, Sirius was thinking along similar lines: his hands were shaking. Sirius made an attempt to still them. Now was not the time. No. Why did Remus have to start a conversation? And where was the firewhisky when he needed it? Damn. Might as well surrender. "Am I that obvious?" he asked, feeling guilty for some reason. "I thought I was hiding better than that."

"You are working," Remus replied seriously. "You have been working for the past _six hours _without leaving the room. You do not seem to notice that you are currently working in your own personal version of hell. You hate this house and almost everything in it."

"You forgot about Kreacher, Remus. He's my own personal Fury," Sirius said bitterly. The dialogue was meant to end the conversation, and they sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Finally, Remus decided, "Sirius, we're terrible at talking things out." The only route to take was the add-humor-and-hope-for-the-best strategy, which, in Remus' experience, tended to backfire more often than not. "We're missing the Rock of Gibraltar and the Yes-man. The Listener and the Comic do not mesh well."

Sirius nodded silently before murmuring, "I wouldn't say I was the Comic, Remus. Idiot that took out his own problems on others, yes. Comic, no." He covered his eyes with his right hand, trying not to think about the past. Laughed harshly at himself, Sirius let his hand drop back to the table. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he demanded, looking off to the side. "I can't feel anymore. There's just … nothing. I can't stand it! And the last time, I couldn't… not without…" By then, the expression on his face had faded from disillusioned and bitter to wretched and almost… broken? But was that really the right word for it?

"I shouldn't've brought it up," Remus apologized, realizing that he had forgotten yet another reason his friend was in a bad way. That matter was infinitely more delicate. However, it was not Remus' place to say anything. He was going to stay out of it.

Remus watched Sirius quickly calm himself down and wondered how often his friend had worn these masks at school, when the Marauders were still the best of friends (James insisted Sirius wasn't disaster prone, no matter how much the latter had tried to claim he was; there was no way he had tripped down the stairs so often. It was un-Sirius-like, very much so.) "Maybe you should stay away from this house," Remus suggested gently. "You don't have to stay here. I have a pretty good idea of what should be tossed and what shouldn't. I'll make sure Molly keeps her crusade against the dirt away from the doors you've kept locked."

Sirius seemed to consider the offer. "I'll think about it," he said finally and went back to working on the lesson plans. Remus swore that Sirius looked relieved; the stubborn mutt might actually acquiesce to the idea. In the best of all possible worlds, Sirius would claim it was his idea in the first place.

Remus smiled and ducked out of the room, saying goodbye in passing. Sirius murmured his reply as Remus was shutting the door. Creeping quietly past the portrait of Sirius's mother (Remus was very glad to have never properly met the woman if the portrait was anything to go by), Remus went upstairs, looking for Molly. He looked around the second floor, and when he eventually passed near the rooms Sirius had locked, Remus still had not found her. He had thought he had heard something, though. Strange. He started back the way he came, and right as he was about to look downstairs, Molly called from one of the first rooms he had searched, "Remus, could you help me with this drawer? It won't open, and there's a Boggart in the closet."

"Coming!"

* * *

"That was close," Fred said, sighing in relief, as he leaned back against the door. He and George had been… researching (yes, that was the word) various spells and potions for certain extracurricular experiments when they had heard someone coming down the hallway. Of course, their mother would have had a conniption had she found them. So, they cast _Alohomora _on the nearest door—they had previously discovered all three of the doors in the hallway were locked—and ran inside, seeking sanctuary. In retrospect, the decision might not have been a good idea.

"I wonder whose room this was," George said, looking around. Unlike the rest of the house, the room was almost impeccably clean. There was, however, a fine coat of dust on the desk next to the window that lit up the entire room. The bed on the far side of the room was perfectly made but had a book or two thrown haphazardly on it. "Think it's Mr. Black's?"

"I don't think cream is his color," Fred replied, referring to the paint on the walls.

George disagreed: "I dunno. I think it looks more like ivory or light grey."

"No, it's cream. It's obviously not ivory, and where did you get light grey from?"

"We're arguing about color."

"Point taken." Fred walked over to the bed and looked at the books on top of the navy blue duvet. One was named after a flower and sounded vaguely familiar, and the other was some book by a man named Ian Fleming. He somehow could not imagine the man working in the dining room reading either of the two books. Well, maybe the latter. "Forge, do you suppose Mr. Black has a brother or sister?" Fred said to his twin.

"It's possible, Gred," George answered and glanced at the pictures on the dresser. Nothing was really out of the ordinary. There was a picture of two people whom George figured were the late Mr. and Mrs. Black. Actually, now that he looked closely, he was sure the woman was Mr. Black's mother, despite the happy expression on her face. The next picture over was of three girls: the first looked psychotic, the second looked perfectly normal if slightly annoyed and making funny faces, and the last looked eerily familiar but amiable-ish. George's eyes widened as he saw the next photo. "Fred, you have to see this," he said, pointing at the photo. "Look."

Fred did as his twin suggested. It was a photo of a couple of Hogwarts students, Slytherins by the look of them. The half-recognized blond girl from the last photo was in it again. There were one or two others who looked vaguely familiar, but one of the last two stood out. "Bloody hell!" Fred exclaimed. "Is that Professor Snape I spy? My God, has he ever washed his hair?" Even more frightening was the almost friendly look on his face. Wait, no. False alarm. It was just his typical smirk. Or was it? This was very puzzling. He glanced at the remaining figure. "Look at him," Fred said, referring to the final figure.

"Hm. I guess this was Mr. Black's brother's room, then," George decided. The teenager in the photo looked to be about Ron or Ginny's age and looked very much like Mr. Black. If they did not know Mr. Black had been in Gryffindor, they might have thought it was Mr. Black. Now that they were looking, however, the boy in the photo did look significantly different from the adult downstairs, disregarding age. George looked around the room once more. "When do you think it was the last time someone came in here? It's rather unsettling how neat everything is."

Fred nodded in agreement. "I wonder what happened to him," he said. "I'd say that no one had been in here for years, but the room's too well kept for being neglected. I didn't think Kreacher was capable of keeping anything clean."

George started to feel like they were. "Gred, I do believe we should avaunt," he said, starting to collect the books and materials they had dropped on the floor. He then spied the journal sticking out from under the bed. Fred noticed it, too. "No, we should leave it where it is," George said before Fred could suggest anything. "Let's go."

Fred nodded and agreed, "We shouldn't tell anyone we came in here. No one, especially not Mum. She'd blow a gasket if she knew we'd broken into one of the rooms then make us apologize to Mr. Black. Somehow, I figure he'd rather we just never speak of this again."

George looked around the room. It was a little surreal to see such a normal, bright, clean room in this grim, old place. They then ducked out of the room with all their things. Fred cast the charm to lock the door before they rushed off to dump their stuff in the room they normally reserved for their research. As they sped off to return to their proper posts, they happened to overhear a conversation between Professor Lupin and their mother.

"Molly, I'm sorry, and I know it sounds strange, but it is imperative that you keep the children away from the locked doors. Trust me, they're better off left alone," the professor said very seriously. Apparently it had been Lupin who almost caught them.

"I take it that you managed to talk Sirius out of hanging about, then?" their mother said. She made an exasperated noise. "I swear, it is hard enough cleaning this house without him moping about. Even the children can tell how little he cares for this place."

The twins could imagine Lupin grimacing. "You don't know the half of it, Molly. Between bad memories of his mother and all memory of his brother, I'm surprised he even set foot in the house again," Lupin admitted. "All that business was hard enough the first time 'round. I hardly imagine Sirius likes dredging it up again, and he's already not well."

There was a moment of silence. "Has the Ministry decided anything concerning Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, obviously trying to switch to a happier subject. "Or are they still deliberating, and it's unlikely anything will be decided before the end of the summer?"

"I don't know," Lupin replied. It seemed from the ensuing pause that he was hesitant to share what he was to say next. "Honestly, I don't think it would be good for either of them, as terrible as it sounds. Sirius… He's dealing with too much right now, and the last thing he needs is more guilt. On the other hand, Harry would be incredibly disappointed if nothing happened. He deserves a stable home life, but Sirius just can't provide that to him right now. Sirius knows it, too. That's why he has been avoiding Harry recently."

Fred and George, from their hiding place, shared an amazed look. Was it really Professor Lupin who said that and not some doppleganger? He was Mr. Black's best friend, wasn't he? Granted, what Lupin said made sense, but the twins felt sorry for whoever told Harry. There would be hell to pay; that was for sure.

"I agree, but I am sure that by the end of this year the Ministry will decide to place Harry in Sirius' care. By then, he may be fine," Mrs. Weasley pointed out. She paused before asking hesitantly, "Remus, excuse me for asking, but why does Sirius try to avoid thinking about his brother? I remember the headlines, of course, but… Well, you know how the papers were."

Intrigued, Fred and George listened carefully to what was said next. After all, they were already in too deep, so they might as well learn what they could. "You heard what happened, right?" Lupin asked grimly. Their mother must have nodded, because Lupin continued, "Well, Sirius and James found the body. James made the call to the Ministry, wrote the report, did everything pertaining to the case. It was almost ironic; Sirius had already seen too much in the war and had barely been fazed, but he hadn't been prepared to see his younger brother's body in an alleyway. James could barely get Sirius to talk about any of it." He sighed and said cynically, "If you asked Sirius now, he would probably call his brother an idiot and curse him for getting himself killed."

"How old was he?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly. The twins had the feeling their mother was thinking about their uncles right about then.

"Regulus was only nineteen," Lupin replied. "Poor kid. He didn't deserve what happened to him. I mean, he was in training to be a healer. That said, the Aurors didn't even have a file on him. They looked for it for a long while, too."

Apparently that last sentence was pointed, because Fred and George had a little bit of trouble understanding the next exchange. Their mother gasped and exclaimed, "He wasn't!"

Lupin replied, "I'm not positive, but it's the only explanation. Why else would the Death Eaters have done all that to him? He had to have rubbed a good many of them the wrong way. The coroner said it was a long, painful death, and everyone knew which side Regulus was on."

At that point, the twins ducked out. This was more than their share of knowledge. Now they knew they could never mention wandering into that room. They were surprised the house was not haunted.

* * *

Daniel Lovegood was not a gambling man. He did not think what his superiors were planning was a good idea. If it were up to him, he would have made sure that the Americans kept their specialist overseas. It was too dangerous to bring the man back over. So many things could go wrong with Voldemort on the scene again. If the specialist were caught, there would in all likelihood be a repeat of what had happened the last time. Dammit, the information was needed to win the war, and getting the only man who knew it killed was just plain idiotic.

Sadly, he was not in control of the Special Operations division of the Department of Mysteries. He only ran the division of Information Collection and Distribution (codenamed Quibbler), and he was very close to complaining to the director of the department. They would be best off keeping the only man who knew how to kill Voldemort once and for all off British soil for the sake of everyone, not the least the man himself. They all knew the risks, but, in his opinion, it was much better to be safe than sorry.

Mr. Lovegood decided to go see the Director.

He exited his office to come upon a scene of barely organized chaos. The other heads of the department divisions were clustered around the director's office. Special Ops was looking rather nervous and avoided Mr. Lovegood's gaze when he approached. The division director of the Hall of Prophecies looked to be deep in thought. That man was always concerned about the laws of cause and effect. The last time Mr. Lovegood had seen Hall of Prophecies that serious, a particular prophecy courtesy of a S. Trelawney had been shelved away. The division director of Special Artifacts, or Death, as he was lovingly nicknamed for his winning personality, looked rather miffed, but he always looked miffed. The division director of R&D was demanding from Moneypenny, the director's secretary (the director had a strange sense of humor), what exactly all of the hubbub was about. Various agents were milling around, ignoring the congregation of division directors.

"No, I do not know about whether or not MI6 will be informed," Moneypenny said irritatedly. She had become tired of the James Bond jokes after her first week. There were a surprising number of witches and wizards in the department that had seen at least one of the movies. "Mr. White will not be participating in any dangerous missions—his function is solely as an advisor. I would have expected at least you to read your briefing."

"What briefing?" Mr. Lovegood asked. White was already here? He was too late, then.

Moneypenny looked at Mr. Lovegood in surprise. "You don't know, either? Isn't it your job to know these things?" she demanded. "My Lord, is everything here going to hell in a handbasket?" She turned to Prophecies. "I take it you were unaware of all of this, too?"

"He should not have returned," Prophecies said, shaking his head and pacing. "There are too many eventualities to account for, and I don't even want to consider the ramifications on the prophecy!"

Death rolled his eyes. "Lovely! You've got Prophecies yammering about the state of his beloved collection of nonsense!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "Next thing you know, he'll be predicting the end of the bloody world!"

Ops glared. "I thought we had an agreement never to speak of such things in Prophecies' presence," he reminded Death. "It only makes him start talking about them."

"Is the Director talking to Mr. White now, Moneypenny?" Mr. Lovegood asked her.

"Yes, IC&D. They are waiting for you," she informed him, motioning for Mr. Lovegood to enter the room. "I daresay the Director was a tad bit on edge."

Mr. Lovegood nodded in response and entered the room. Mr. White looked younger than Mr. Lovegood expected, even if his hair was liberally streaked with grey. "How've the States been treating you?" Mr. Lovegood asked.

"Fine, Dan," Mr. White replied after a moment. It seemed as if he was uncertain as to how he should be acting. The mixed feelings were evident in his expression. The two had always been a little on edge with each other since White's near-death experience.

The Director smiled and motioned towards a chair. "Please sit down," she said to Mr. Lovegood. Addressing the two of them, she continued, "I am sure both of you have kept up with recent events. As such, I expect you both know how much danger Mr. White is in. Any number of people could recognize him, and it would be very unwise to allow Voldemort to know he survived."

Mr. Lovegood noticed Mr. White looked a little torn. "What are you suggesting, Madame Director?" he asked. "I'm not sure why I am present. I only run the Quibbler. My specialty is broadcasting information to our agents, not safeguarding it."

"Exactly, Mr. Lovegood," the Director said. "You need to inform our agents about Mr. White. We cannot afford friendly fire, especially if Mr. White is to go into deep cover."

"What?" Mr. Lovegood exclaimed as he stood up. "Are you mad?"

"I requested it," Mr. White said softly. "There is no other way for this to work. Unfortunately, I cannot ascertain the location of the rest of the horcruxes if I am not one of Voldemort's minions. Unless, of course, we try some half-witted scheme to break into his headquarters, which we need to locate, and steal the things that Voldemort guards the most thoroughly, if they are even there. I would bet anything that the same people have been in charge of guarding the horcruxes since before Voldemort's initial demise, so said idiotic scheme would prove at best useless and at worst devastating."

"I suspected as much, hence why I have already coordinated a meeting for you with the Death Eaters," the Director cut in, sitting back in her chair. She sighed and addressed Mr. Lovegood, "I know you disagree with this particular course of action, Daniel, but it is the only way, as you must realize. Inform our field agents that Mr. White is on our side but to treat him like an enemy. We cannot afford for the past to repeat itself."

Mr. White looked off to the side, seeming as if he was trying not to remember what had happened. Mr. Lovegood hardy blamed him. Mr. White composed himself before saying, "Dan, please. I wish it could be different, but I can't see any other option. If it were up to me, I'd be back in D.C. with Vesta and the kids. I don't want to be here, but I have to do this."

Mr. Lovegood nodded. Of course Mr. White would have preferred to stay back in the States. He was considerably safer there from the Death Eaters and all of their sympathizers. "I know," Mr. Lovegood said finally. Turning to the Director, he asked, "When do you want me to inform the agents? This issue or the next?"

* * *

_**Notes**: Yes, Mr. Lovegood isn't canon-Mr. Lovegood, but I hadn't read DH until I was writing chapter 7. I've always been amused by quirky ideas like the Quibbler being a spy bulletin disguised as a tabloid, and I couldn't really resist making Mr. Lovegood kind of normal, especially after actually reading DH. Yep. Thanks for reading and please review if you've the time!_


	5. Thanks For Your Consideration

Sirius was sitting in the faculty lounge, wondering why he and James had never been able to get into the damned room. Strange, but completely irrelevant. There was nothing else to do but think and stare at the walls and drink some sort of caffeinated beverage, waiting for the rest of the teachers to show. Sirius considered running away and hiding. The idea was short lived, seeing as that would have done no good. Actually, a mad dash almost would have been worth it if Snape ended up being coerced into looking for him. Not a good idea in the long run, though.

So there Sirius was, patiently awaiting the meeting and whatever it brought.

Luckily, the second person to set foot in the room was Auriga Sinistra. She had always seemed a little odd, and Sirius really did wonder how she had managed to keep her job. He remembered their seventh year holiday ball where she had somehow managed not only to trip over her own dress fifteen times and spill about four glasses of sparkling cider on each of the Hufflepuff prefects but had also called Snape some things that were "best not repeated in polite company," according to Sinistra herself. James had always sworn that Sinistra's behavior had nothing to do with the spiking of the punch. Sirius still wondered why James had said that, considering that the teachers had made absolutely sure there was no alcohol present for once.

Currently, Sinistra was in a daze. It may have been about eight-thirty in the morning, but she looked like it was earlier than she had ever woken up before. She looked rather happy when she noticed that someone (Sirius) had made the coffee. "Ah, sweet nectar of the gods, thank you for materializing!" Sinistra exclaimed sleepily, gazing at the coffee pot with reverence. Apparently she thought that the coffee had made itself. Sirius decided not to correct her. "Hark!" she continued quite seriously, "What light through yonder window breaks! It is coffee, the sun." Sirius laughed at that, and Sinistra turned to face him. "Oh, it's you," she said in a flat tone. "I've been wondering when you were going to show up." With some coffee, she sat down in one of the chairs opposite Sirius. "So…" Sinistra was obviously trying to come up with some sort of conversation starter. For his part, Sirius bet awkward silence would reign.

"Is it always this nerve-wracking, waiting for the start of the school year?" Sirius asked conversationally. Time to see if his vaunted social skills had atrophied as badly as Remus had insisted. On the bright side, at least he was talking to Sinistra and not Binns.

Sinistra stared at him, considering. She eventually shrugged and replied, "Yes, I guess I'd say so. At least you won't have to worry about any madcap stunts the Weasley twins generally orchestrate to welcome new teachers." Sinistra added, "Although, I doubt they know they're carrying on your and Potter's legacy. That said, even I still find it frightening to think about how all the little blighters are the future and that I'm supposed to be teaching them."

Sirius smiled a bit. "Bad experiences?" he suggested. "Or have you just become that jaded to the general idiocy of the student population?"

"A little bit of both," Sinistra admitted. "You know, my problems come equally from students and teachers alike. My mother had also deigned to visit a couple of years ago."

"I imagine that went well," Sirius replied, sarcastic but not without sympathy. He remembered having met Sinistra's mother once in the past. It was at a black-tie affair for the politicos that the Aurors had been forced to attend. James had taken about twenty minutes to talk his (and Sirius's) way out of the conversation with the (admittedly frightening) woman. "Wasn't she up for Minister of Magic at some point?" Sirius recalled.

"Yes, but she decided that it was more important that she stay close to the populace or somesuch," Sinistra replied, waving a hand vaguely. "She's still in the House of Commons, working away for the proletariat. God forbid they ask her to replace Fudge. She might just accept." She shook her head and continued, "Snape doesn't exactly help my mental state, either." Sinistra glared at her coffee mug and mentioned, "He's intolerable, I'll have you know."

"I had heard," Sirius said wryly, recalling what Remus had told him. Apparently Sinistra had a penchant for throwing coffee mugs or anything that was not bolted down at said colleague.

Sinistra laughed nervously. "Right. You must have talked to Remus. I'd forgotten," she said in realization. "And there was the whole you making his life miserable thing from school."

"I am trying to cut back on that front," Sirius replied with a grin in mock-seriousness before continuing seriously, "Truthfully, I do want to try to mend relations, just a little. I mean, it would set a bad example to the students if two of the teachers started a duel every time they passed in the halls." He paused and added, "Also, I have a feeling parents would not be amused if their children learned spells the Ministry does not particularly approve of."

Sinistra raised an eyebrow. "You really think that you and Snape would draw on the spells from the war?" she asked, obviously unsure if she should take him seriously. "Isn't that overreacting just a bit?"

"I don't think he would think so, and I tend to respond in kind, so we'd probably reenact a major battles from the last war," Sirius reasoned jokingly. At the shocked look on Sinistra's face, he amended sincerely, "Sinistra, I'm kidding. I doubt either of us would let loose like that, but we might use spells the children shouldn't learn."

Sinistra nodded, and the two sat in silence for a moment. After seemingly gathering the courage, Sinistra hesitantly asked, "How have you been? Is the media still mobbing you?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and answered, "It could be worse, trust me. That damn reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ keeps asking for an interview. You know the one. She's the annoying sensationalist. Like hell I'm talking to her. She'll make me out as unbalanced and unfit to rejoin society, which may or may not be true, but I'd rather not have that broadcasted to the world."

"So the transition's not been good?" Sinistra gathered, watching for his reaction. Sirius wondered why she had decided to pursue this conversation topic, of all things. Granted, there was not much else to talk about with him. Maybe he should start reading the newspaper as well as doing the crossword. He was pretty far out of the loop.

Sirius shrugged in response to the question. "It's been a little difficult," he admitted, deciding to talk to her. Strange that he couldn't talk like this to Remus. He guessed it was more because he did not want to trouble his friend than because he did not feel comfortable talking about it. "It doesn't exactly help that most everyone still treats me as if I were guilty," Sirius murmured, looking down at his coffee. Never a dull moment, was there? Freed one day, asked to work at a school the next. Sirius laughed sharply and continued almost angrily, "I shouldn't be complaining. I mean, I just got cleared, for God's sake!"

Sinistra smiled wanly. "Well, I would be annoyed, too," she said honestly. "Despite the fact that everyone was convinced you were guilty since 'eighty-one, they caught Pettigrew. I mean, what more proof do people need?" She sighed exasperatedly and took a swig of her coffee before giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," she managed to say through the giggles. "This is just so surreal, sitting here with you talking about this, that, and the other thing like it's the most normal habit in the world. My God, it's been how long? Seventeen, eighteen years?"

"Something like that," Sirius answered quietly. It was a frightening thought that it had been that long since he, James, and Remus had been goofing off the summer before their last year of school. Steering clear of bittersweet memories, Sirius switched the subject, trying to mask his feelings, and said, "When will everyone else arrive for the meeting, do you think?"

Sinistra glanced over at the clock, apparently having picked up on his discomfort with the prior subject. Lazily she replied, "I'd say in about five… four… three… two…"

Once she said "one," about half of the remaining faculty walked into the room. Sirius was rather surprised by the stampede and sank into his chair, hoping against all odds that he would remain unnoticed at least until the meeting. As far as he could tell, McGonagall was absent (but he had not thought she would arrive until near the end), as was Hagrid, but Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore had sent the man off on some mission for the Order of the Phoenix. That reminded him of his assignment. It was more of a request than an assignment, but Sirius made it a point to follow through on anything Dumbledore requested of him. Maybe the loyalty was to make up for his disobedience back in school, but he doubted it. In any case, he was supposed to help with any questions or concerns the family of some American spy had about Hogwarts. Apparently the spy and his wife had decided to send their children to the school. Sometimes Sirius wondered how the headmaster was nearing omniscient; that information about the American agent was guaranteed to be top-secret, if he knew the Department of Mysteries.

* * *

"Galleon for your thoughts?" Auriga asked, completely aware of the fact that she disrupting Black's train of thought. It was probably something depressing anyhow. The man looked like he needed to be a little more cheerful.

Black shrugged. "Nothing much," he replied in an attempt to be nonchalant. "There's a couple of American first-year students the headmaster wants me to keep my eye on." He was still trying to disappear into his chair, but Auriga figured that he looked a little less tense now that it was clear none of the other faculty were going to make a big deal out of his presence.

"I had heard about them," Auriga replied, surprised that he knew about the kids. She had thought Arty would have been the one to be the liaison. After all, she had some American relatives, being a Vector and all, even if her parents did live in Australia. "I was under the impression that Dumbledore was going to have Arty talk to them."

Black froze, but he hid his reaction after only for a moment. Auriga had the feeling he was wondering if he heard her right. "Uh—Arty?" he asked, sounding slightly guarded. So he still felt something for Arty, did he? Interesting. Auriga had to admit that it was a nice touch for him to pretend he had no clue what she was talking about. His expression, on the other hand, betrayed nothing. Auriga was impressed. Apparently the Aurors did know a thing or two about subtlety, despite how they tended to act like they were unaware of the meaning and existence of the word.

However, since Black was feigning ignorance, Auriga decided play along. "Oh, you know. Artemesia Vector? She's the Arithmancy teacher. Was in our year, remember? Arty used to fight with you whenever you graced the Ravenclaw table with your presence," Auriga reminded him. Maybe that had been a little too harsh. However, she could detect no change in his expression, so Auriga decided that she had been perfectly justified in phrasing her answer as she had.

"Right. Her," Black replied, now obviously unsettled. A weak smile passed over his features. "Is she coming today?" he asked as casually as he could. Oh, he obviously had not been prepared for this. Auriga wondered if Remus had neglected to tell Black on purpose. If she were the werewolf, she would not have told Black, either.

Auriga decided to shrug in response. "Arty said she was going to come," she replied, deciding to be honest with him. "However, she did tell me some of her family was coming into town, so I think she's down in London at the moment," Auriga continued, keeping a careful eye on Black. She was very interested in his reaction.

Auriga was not sure how she should feel about him seeming relieved when he heard the news. Black commented carefully, "It's probably a good thing she's visiting family." He laughed a little and looked off to the side. Now looking a little disappointed, he continued, "At least she won't have to endure a boring faculty meeting." Was he going to make up his mind? Auriga was starting to get frustrated with the man. That said, she knew damn well that Arty would be coming today and was just messing with Black, but he should at least have the decency to be a little less confusing. Unfortunately, Black took the opportunity to lapse into silence.

Luckily for him, Auriga was then distracted by the entrance of a particular greasy git. "Why, Severus, thank you for making it to the meeting on time," Auriga said rather loudly. Snape had taken to acting hard of hearing around her recently. "I almost expected you to show up covered in some potion after we were half-finished with the meeting. Congratulations on being punctual."

Black had looked up and was currently staring at Snape, who was glaring daggers back at him. "I don't have time for your inane rantings, Sinistra," Snape shot back without even glancing in her direction. How rude. Predictably, Snape then coolly addressed Black, "I see Dumbledore decided to take on another charity case. Aurors wouldn't hire you back, I take it? No one else in their right mind would hire an ex-convict."

"Another charity case?" Black repeated, with a look of barely veiled hatred on his face. Auriga supposed Snape was referring to Remus and felt a little angry herself at Snape. They did not need to bring the unfortunate werewolf into this argument. What had happened to Black trying to make peace, anyway? Black laughed darkly and retorted, "I suppose you mean yourself, seeing as few people would risk hiring a known Death—"

"Better that than a man who proved himself capable of murder before he left school," Snape growled, cutting Black off. Auriga started to wish she were somewhere else. Granted, the two would be sniping at each other all year, but this was a little ridiculous. How long had it been since they had seen each other? She would have thought that their hatred of each other would have dimmed over the years.

Glancing over at Black, Auriga noticed that he had dropped the expressionless act. Black had since stood and looked as if he wanted to challenge Snape to a duel. "You do not want to say that again," Black growled furiously. "I'll grant you that I was an idiot, but I never intended for you to get killed. I wasn't one of your psychotic fellow Slytherins."

"Oh, such as your brother?" Snape replied gelidly, still wearing a very dark expression. Apparently smirking was not one of the weapons Snape used in conversation with Black. However, Auriga wondered why Snape said that. If she remembered correctly, Black hated his entire family, save an uncle and one of his cousins.

"You have no right to mention him," Black responded in a tone even cooler than Snape's. Auriga realized then why people had so easily believed him guilty of murder: Black certainly looked like he could kill at that moment. It was frightening to watch him so eerily calm but so clearly furious. "You have _no right_."

Auriga sent a questioning glance Black's way. Had she heard that correctly? His voice had quavered, hadn't it? She made the decision to deescalate the situation. Black and Snape getting into a duel in the teacher's lounge of Hogwarts did not sound like a good newspaper headline to Auriga's ears. Fortuitously, McGonagall then walked into the room with Sibyl. "Minerva, Sibyl! Nice to see you both!" Auriga exclaimed rather loudly with possibly too much fake cheerfulness. Her enthusiasm to see someone who could get the two men to cease prodding the other into trying to kill each other was not faked in the least.

McGonagall turned in the direction of Auriga, who was sitting in the crossfire, and noticed her two former students. Auriga breathed a sigh of relief as McGonagall donned her angry-teacher expression and said, "I take it that you two are behaving?"

Auriga almost felt sorry for Black as his dark expression morphed into a sheepish one and lied, "Of course, Professor." It had taken Auriga years to stop calling McGonagall 'Professor,' so it was perfectly normal that Black was still in the habit, despite his former inclination to disregard the rules. Black even seemed a little ashamed about the exchange with Snape and how quickly he had lost his temper.

McGonagall nodded, apparently satisfied that the two would not duel in the teacher's lounge. "See that it stays that way," she said sternly and continued on her way to talk to the other teachers. Sibyl followed, much to Auriga's relief.

Snape, true to form, just rolled his eyes at Black and remained belligerent. He at least acknowledged the presence of McGonagall by saying, "Good morning, Minerva." Auriga wondered how difficult that was for him, being polite and courteous and all. "Sinistra," Snape said in way of excusing himself from the conversation. He stormed after McGonagall, presumably to complain about how he could not last a year with Black as the Defense teacher for and threaten resignation.

Auriga glared after the git. What an overgrown bat! She turned back to Black, who was staring at her with a puzzled expression. "I said that out-loud, didn't I?" she realized.

"Yeah," Black replied honestly, sounding a little shell-shocked. "You actually shouted it."

"Good," Auriga declared. Someone needed to have said it.

The teachers continued to trickle in as Auriga finished off her cup of coffee. Black was quietly staring off into space. If Auriga did not know better, she would have said he looked depressed, but he was probably just nervous or still angry with Snape for having said all of that stuff. Auriga wondered what Snape had been referring to with the "capable of murder" comment. It seemed to have hit a nerve with Black, and the mention of Black's brother had awakened something frightening. Auriga shuddered to think of the reasons Black could be so touchy about mention of his brother.

Auriga sighed and stood to acquire some more coffee. The moment she glanced over at the door, it opened, and Arty walked into the room. Oh, my. Auriga imagined that if her life was a book, this would be part of the painful yet necessary character development of the somewhat unstable supporting cast that was more trouble than they were worth. Auriga decided to later thank her overgrown bat of a potential love-interest for possibly making the situation worse than it already had to be. Arty was probably frazzled by her relatives; the woman really didn't need to have the one person who could throw her even more off-balance in a similar mental state. Determined to stay out of the situation, Auriga concentrated on the coffee.

That lasted for all of two seconds.

Arty tried to hide her shock as she calmly walked past Auriga (still pretending to make coffee) and Black. Predictably, Arty did not look back to see Black's reaction, which was not really anything more than staring at Arty in shock for a moment before looking off in the opposite direction, probably silently cursing. Real subtle, those two. Auriga felt it was her duty to run off after Arty. Black could fend for himself.

"Arty!" Auriga hissed after her friend as she caught up with her. "Don't act so surprised! You knew he was going to show up sooner or later."

Arty glared at her. "I know," she replied irritatedly, glancing back at Black. "I just didn't think he'd actually be on time, what with his track record." She shook her head and sat down at the table at the back of the lounge. Her seat was next to Auriga's. The Potions teacher traditionally sat across from them. Auriga glared where Snape would soon be sitting.

Auriga then remembered to reassure her friend. "Eh, don't worry, Arty," she said cheerfully. "I'm sure that Black will try to stay out of your way for the year. He seems about as enthused about the prospect of dealing with you as you feel about dealing with him."

"Geez, Auriga, that's so reassuring," Arty replied sarcastically. She glanced over at Black, who was not acknowledging her presence, and grimaced. "I can't believe him! Does he really have nothing to say to me?"

Auriga stared at Arty with an eyebrow raised. "Artemesia? You have had all summer to prepare for this, and I would like to inform you that your reaction to the news he's working here was far worse than his reaction to knowing you work here. How do I know? Well, I was apparently the _first_ to inform him about you. Therefore, cut the poor man some slack," Auriga chastised.

Arty fell silent and looked down at the table. "Why doesn't he do anything?" she asked quietly. "It's not fair, you know? Fourteen years lost because some idiots—" Arty cut off mid-sentence and said nothing for a while. She turned to Auriga with a wan smile and said, "Sorry for all this, Auriga. Merlin, I'm complaining about things that are so … I don't know … stupid, I guess." Biting her lip, Arty said, "I should give him some time before talking to him, shouldn't I?"

Auriga looked over at Black, whom McGonagall was now telling off for one reason or another (Snape seemed particularly irritated), and who appeared quite unrepentant. That was something Auriga never understood: how Black could be so depressed one minute and back to chipper and sarcastic the next. It had always confused her in school (as a particularly bizarre Ravenclaw, she had found it necessary to diagnose all of the popular people with mental disorders). Judging by how he had been while talking to her, though, Auriga answered pensively, "You might want to wait for him to talk to you, Arty. It is obvious he's having trouble dealing with something. You're right about the pretending everything is all right even though he spent the last fourteen years in his own personal hell. As far as I can tell, he probably needs to deal with not being a wanted criminal anymore and whatever happened in Azkaban before trying to put his life back together." Wow. That was approaching deep. Auriga wondered if she had been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pseudo-Auriga. It could happen!

Arty nodded silently in agreement. She glanced once more at the man before settling in to wait for the meeting to start when the headmaster finally entered the room.

* * *

_**Notes**: For those of you who are wondering, no, Harry hasn't disappeared off of the face of the earth. He's in the next chapter. Thanks for reading; please review.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Harry gets rescued from Privet Drive, and the neurotic former Death Eater is formally introduced._


	6. Wasteland

It was near the end of the summer, and Harry Potter had yet to talk to his godfather. Harry simply did not understand it. Why, had Sirius not talked to Harry, now that he was cleared? It made no sense. What was more confusing and aggravating was that Harry had learned about Sirius's exoneration from the _Daily Prophet_, of all things. Neither Sirius (from whom Harry would have expected to hear the news), for Ron (who admittedly had sent Harry a letter that Hedwig had delivered shortly after the _Daily Prophet_ had arrived), for Hermione (who was under the impression Harry would have been the first to know), nor anyone else Harry was close to had informed Harry. He had found out from the newspaper. The bloody _newspaper_.

Harry shook his head and went back to his schoolwork. He had been given loads, except, of course, from Defense Against the Dark Arts until about three weeks ago. Ron and Hermione had also been amazed that they had been assigned an eighteen-inch long paper about a dark spell of their choice halfway through the summer. None of the three were sure what to think about the new teacher. It seemed that whoever it was knew what he (or she, Hermione had reminded both Harry and Ron) was doing. Maybe they would have a second competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

On a related note, Ron and Hermione had apparently been present for some sort of clandestine meetings regarding the quest to get rid of Voldemort. Both of them had kept mum about any and all details, which was very frustrating. What made the situation even more frustrating was that Ron had initially seen Sirius at the Clandestine Meeting-Place until Mrs. Weasley had effectively told Sirius to bugger off. Hermione later joined Ron and the rest of the Weasleys at the Clandestine Meeting-Place and reported that the two adults she saw the most there were Mrs. Weasley and Professor Lupin, who had apparently been charged with supervising the cleaning of the Clandestine Meeting-Place.

Supposedly, according to both Hermione and Ron's letters, Harry was to join them for the last month before school. His birthday was rapidly approaching, but there was no change in the status quo. The only thing he could really do aside from his homework was read the _Daily Prophet_, which was admittedly boring on the whole.

Speaking of boring, Harry felt bored just sitting and waiting and doing his homework. The magical community was preparing for the second round of the war against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and Harry was doing nothing! Not only was he virtually incommunicado, but he had nothing to do except read about how the Ministry was calling for raised taxes, thinking about mandatory conscription for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and passing wartime laws. Voldemort was lying low now, gathering his strength, waiting for someone to slip up in the Ministry to thereby allow his reign of terror to begin anew.

Maybe, Harry reflected, the reason that Sirius had made no contact was that he was off fighting or otherwise subverting the forces of evil, but that made little to no sense. Sirius would have told Harry. He wondered if Sirius hadn't talked to him, because Sirius was afraid of telling Harry that, no, Harry could not come live with him, not now. Harry thought that Sirius would know better than that. Honestly, he was almost fifteen and understood that Sirius needed some time to sort things out. After all, Sirius was just cleared of the murder charges! Harry would have liked to move in with Sirius right away, but he knew Sirius needed to get a job, house, etc. before the government would even consider giving Harry's godfather custody. Of course, Harry had been disappointed when he learned that the Ministry had not immediately done so.

The only thing Harry felt he could do was go back to his homework. This Defense teacher better be a decent one, with all the work he (…or she) had handed out. Thankfully, the school letter had indicated the new textbook for Defense class, which happened to be very thorough in covering a great many dark spells and their defenses or countercurses.

As Harry continued to consider his Defense homework, Hedwig flew into the room with a letter, probably from Ron or Hermione. Lo and behold, it was from Ron:

_Dear Harry,_

_Excellent news, mate! Some of the crew are coming to pick you up to come here for the rest of the summer. Don't get too excited. We have lots of work to do. It'll be great to see you again, though. Hermione says hi and such (she wants to talk about current events.)_

_See you soon,_

_Ron_

Harry wondered for a moment what type of work Ron was referring to. If it were homework, then Hermione would not have been working. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that she finished her homework at the beginning of summer vacation every year. Then again, Hermione may have also been thrown for a loop at the Defense homework. In any case, Harry attempted a bit of orderly packing as he haphazardly threw his textbooks and robes in the trunk.

The Dursleys were out for the day, so Harry decided to go downstairs for a bite to eat before he wrote back to Ron as to the details of when exactly the 'crew' would arrive. The kitchen was spotless, as always, and Harry took out a sandwich left over from when Dudley's friends had visited the day before. Harry turned to look out the window and saw a rather confused-looking young woman with spiky, fluorescent purple hair who grinned and waved eagerly once she saw he had noticed her. Harry looked down at the sandwich, wondering if there was some substance in there that was making him hallucinate, before going to the door.

Harry opened the door just as Lupin was about to knock. Needless to say, Lupin was a little surprised when Harry opened the door, but he recovered quickly. Smiling, Lupin said, "Hello, Harry. I trust you've had a good summer so far?" The purple-haired girl had wandered over by this point and was hovering behind Lupin.

"It's been okay," was Harry's noncommittal response. He invited them to come in (if he had to stay, Aunt Petiunia would have a conniption if she found out some of '_them_' had been over). "Are you here to take me away?" he asked after shutting the door behind Lupin and the still nameless witch, only belatedly realizing he sounded like they were taking him away to a mental institution. "To wherever Ron and Hermione are?"

The purple-haired witch grinned and replied, "Yep. We're off to fair London-town. So… You packed and all? I swear, if we're not back in an hour, Moody'll go mad…der."

Trying his best to keep a straight face, Lupin was a little more helpful and explained, "Yes, we are going to go back to … Headquarters, but I would like to speak to your aunt and uncle about this. Are they around?" He had glanced over at the driveway earlier, taking note of the absence of a car, but there was still a chance that at least one of the Dursleys were present.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No. They probably wouldn't care if I fell off the face of the earth," he said flatly. "Can't you leave a note or something?" Harry asked, hoping Lupin would not insist on waiting for the Dursleys to return. "It's not like they'd miss me or anything."

"Well, I suppose so," Lupin replied, looking a little anxious. He did not seem all that disappointed that the Dursleys were out. Harry idly wondered if Lupin had ever met his aunt and uncle before. "Luckily, Dumbledore planned on this scenario," Lupin continued with a slight smile, retrieving a letter from his jacket pocket.

"So, are you packed?" the purple-haired witch repeated with a grin. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Tonks. Just Tonks. We do not need to discuss my first name under any circumstances," she introduced herself, sending a meaningful look Lupin's way to warn him against even alluding to her first name.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said before continuing, "I'll go get my trunk. I've pretty much packed." Lupin smiled in response, and Harry raced up the stairs. When Harry came back down the stairs with his trunk and Hedwig's case in hand, Tonks was idly examining her surroundings from her station next to the door. Lupin was nowhere to be seen. Looking around, Harry asked Tonks, "Where's Professor Lupin?"

Tonks snapped to attention and replied cheerfully, "Oh, he's outside, trying to figure out how to unparallel-park. I didn't even know he had a driver's license, but apparently he does." She shrugged and grinned. "Ready to go?"

Harry nodded and followed Tonks out the door, locking in on the way out. Lupin had apparently discovered how to get out of the parking space and had parked the car in the Dursleys' driveway. He was leaning against it, obviously waiting for the other two. Harry was actually more surprised that Lupin had a car than the fact that said car looked like it had come straight out of a spy movie. Tonks took Harry's trunk and put it in the boot of the car. Lupin, having noticed Harry's reaction to the car, said tiredly, "Be glad it's not a DeLorean."

"I thought wizards didn't drive," Harry said to Lupin, still bewildered as Tonks took Hedwig's cage and put it in the back seat. She looked at her reflection in the glass of the car door and changed her eye color to neon orange, deciding orange looked better with the purple.

"Eh, most don't," Tonks answered in lieu of Harry's former teacher. "Take for example, my aunts. One probably would think that a car, if she were told the word, was some sort of 'primitive bludgeoning device,' as my cousin likes to put it. It's his car, by the way. Well, it's really supposed to be Remus's, but Remus is 'porridge-like' and won't take it, so—"

"Your mother insisted we all learn how to drive," Lupin explained patiently to Harry, reminiscing a little. He laughed at the memory and continued, "Your father couldn't understand why it was necessary to learn. Sirius, of course, thought he would be exempt because of the motorbike, but your mother insisted. He was worse at driving than your dad, which was saying something. I refused to be in the same car with them if either of them were driving." His smile faded a bit, and Lupin abruptly switched gears and said, "Well, we should get going."

Tonks exclaimed, "Shot-gun!" and launched herself at the car door. Harry decided not to comment on the behavior and let himself into the car.

Lupin proved to be a good driver, even with the added distraction of Tonks. The ride was mostly silent, if Harry discounted Tonks talking constantly. She was an interesting person, Harry soon discovered, and he started to wonder how and why Tonks changed her hair-color about five times between the trip from Little Whinging to London.

The street they stopped on was about as innocuous and nondescript as a street in one of the older, richer parts of London was. The only strange thing about the street was that the house numbers skipped over the number twelve. Harry was just about to comment as Lupin handed him a piece of paper. It was a note written in green ink that read, "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London." Harry looked up, confused. "What's this about?" he asked.

Lupin grimaced. "We'll talk about it once we're inside," he replied. "If you've memorized that, I'll be needing the paper back." Harry gave back the slip of paper to Lupin and looked at the nearby houses. There was a number eleven and a number thirteen, but no number twelve. As he thought on the apparent nonexistence of the house, it appeared from nowhere between the two houses flanking it. Harry turned back to Lupin, who was making sure that the paper had been completely consumed by the fire spell he had cast.

"Wicked, isn't it?" Tonks chimed in as she ran up to the door of the house. Harry hesitantly followed, wondering all the while if the house would disappear as quickly as it had appeared. "I wish I could have come up with a plan this brilliant."

"We should get inside," Lupin mentioned quietly, unlocking the door. He turned to Tonks and reminded her kindly, "Please don't forget the umbrella stand. The portrait will be difficult to quiet if we wake it up again." Harry was about to ask what Lupin was talking about, but his former teacher soon continued, "Harry, we need to be quiet inside the main hall, and I likewise recommend against touching anything. We'll explain later."

Harry followed Tonks into the house. Lupin locked the door once he had entered. Harry looked around the hallway. It was dark and dreary, and Harry wondered how anyone could stand living in this house. However, the gloomy house was cleaner than he would have expected it to be under any other circumstances. There was a serpentine theme to the light fixtures, Harry noticed, as the lamps in the hallway lit.

"Where's Molly?" Tonks whispered quickly. "I would have expected her to be here waiting for Harry." She walked a bit down the hallway, making sure to avoid the umbrella stand. Tonks turned back to look at Lupin questioningly.

"I don't know, but I'm sure that Harry probably would like something to eat," Lupin replied at a similar volume. "Besides, we can talk properly in the kitchen." He turned back to Harry. "That's fine with you, right?" Lupin asked.

Harry nodded, still looking around. "Food sounds good," Harry replied distractedly as he followed Tonks and Lupin to the kitchen. "Say, where exactly are we? And what's the Order of the Phoenix?"

Lupin paused, seemingly uncertain of how to answer the question. Finally, he explained, "The Order is an organization whose current goal is the eventual defeat of Voldemort. Dumbledore resurrected it during the last war. Your parents were a part of it, as were Sirius and myself. As you've probably noticed, it's a somewhat secret society. We… made rather a large enemy of Voldemort in the last war, and we're probably near at the top of his hit list, hence all of the cloak and dagger nonsense."

Tonks made a mad dash to the icebox as soon as they entered the kitchen and cackled maniacally. "Success! The Dynamic Duo has failed to abduct my iced-tea!" she pronounced victoriously as she took the bottle out. Tonks then noticed the rather confused look on Harry's face and explained, "Fred and George have been stealing the iced-tea hoard."

"Oh," Harry said before turning back to Lupin. "So this house is the headquarters for a clandestine order bent on ridding the world of Voldemort?" At the nod Lupin gave him, Harry continued, "So why does it look like a place Voldemort would like to live?"

"See? Even he thinks this is a bad idea! And he hasn't even seen the house elf heads!" Tonks pointed out to Lupin, who was about to defend the choice, before she continued, "I know it means that Voldemort will never—well, almost never—consider that this could be our headquarters, but a random Muggle building in London would have sufficed. We weren't in need of acquiring irony! It doesn't help either that my cousin hates this place."

Lupin sighed. It seemed to Harry that this argument had been coming up quite frequently. "I know. The other reasons, the wards specifically, overpower any doubts about the house. We didn't need to fortify it much more than it already was. It saved a lot of effort, and the fact that he despises the house means that Voldemort will think it's even less likely that this is the Order's headquarters," he explained patiently. "Harry, as to your question, this is … how do I put this?" Lupin looked rather uncomfortable speaking on the subject. He answered carefully, "This house belongs to a family that is known for its obsession with Dark magic and blood purity, hence all of snake decorations. The current owner, on the other hand, doesn't hold with that and is a member of the Order. He suggested this place because of the tactical advantage."

"Yeah. Cuz was getting so mopey hanging around here. If I wasn't here at the time, I'd actually have thought that his behavior was amusing. However, watching him was kinda painful," Tonks agreed.

"Who are we talking about?" Harry asked. He had a feeling, one that might explain Lupin's careful replies. It did not explain Tonks, though. Much. Actually, it explained a lot, now that Harry thought about it.

"This house is Sirius's childhood home," Lupin admitted. "Visiting here is not a pleasant experience for him. The fact that he even has to come here has worsened his mood swings, at least when he visits." With a grimace, Lupin attempted to explain, "Look, Harry, I know that he hasn't contacted you, but…"

"It's fine," Harry lied irritatedly. Now Harry knew it was even more unlikely that he would see Sirius before the school year. Why hadn't Sirius even been at the house to say hello to Harry? Would Sirius even show up to see Harry off when he went back to school? It wasn't fair. "Will Sirius at least be around later? Does he even want to see me?"

"Of course he does!" Lupin exclaimed. "How could you think otherwise?" He sighed and explained, "Look, Harry, Sirius doesn't mean to avoid you. I don't want to make excuses, but he is going through a rough time. Sirius does have other responsibilities now. I don't mean to imply that those responsibilities are more important than taking care of you, but he does have to consider more than he has recently. Granted, I agree that he should have told you about the outcome of the trial and visited you earlier."

Frustrated, Harry nodded, but he had to acknowledge that Lupin did have a point. "So, what's everyone been up to, then?" he asked. "Ron and Hermione said that they were cleaning the house, but it looked pretty much all right."

Tonks snorted. "Yeah, after Hurricane Molly rolled through here, everything was spotless," she agreed. "The halls are cleanish, but you should see some of the rooms. I mean, the billiard room was in a really bad state. We're working on the second floor, but Sirius won't let anyone near the bedrooms on pain of death. Well, not really, but you get the point. The twins snuck in once, I think, but no one's said anything. In any case, there's a terrible doxy infestation, and we are still plagued by a couple of boggarts. And then there's the painting of Great Aunt Walburga and the nutter house elf. I can't believe anyone actually ever lived here sometimes. Maybe it was less disturbing when people lived here. That said, Mum always calls it a hellhole. And there are cockroaches! And spiders! And all sorts of other bugs! You know how the crazy elf deals with it? He eats them! Kreacher's blooming mad! And he goes on and on about how we're all defiling the house with our 'impure blood' or supposed bloodtraitor-ness. Bloody hell, the house elf's like Gollum, but worse!" Lupin cleared his throat. Tonks stopped mid-rant and looked embarrassed. "Sorry," she apologized with a self-conscious smile. "It's the décor. Drives me a bit batty."

Remus smiled and said, "Well, Harry, I suppose you would like to see your friends?"

* * *

_The room was pitch black. He could not see anything, not even the hand in front of his face. It was freezing, so cold that he could feel it in his bones. It did not matter that his clothes were torn into near shreds. Even if he had been wearing a warm winter coat, he would still be colder than he had previously imagined possible._

_The worst part was he knew his punishment had not even begun._

_They would make him into a cautionary tale used to keep new recruits from ever betraying the Great Cause. If he had the energy, he would have laughed. That was a blessing in disguise, as any noise would alert whomever was guarding him that he had regained consciousness. The dark and frozen hell he was being put through was just to soften him up for interrogation. After all, they had to know what information he had sold. They would get nothing out of him. He swore to himself that he would never tell them what he had done. If the Dark Lord learned the depth of his betrayal, all of his effort would have been for naught. He would not allow it._

_The door opened, and light poured in. He flinched involuntary. Damn. Now they knew he was awake. The pain would begin. "Get up," said a harsh voice. Was that…? No—she would be the last one to torture him. Just for fun, of course._

_Ignoring the voice, he did not move an inch. There was no way he was going to stand because his captors wanted him to. It was not like he would be better off if he listened. There was only one way out of the mess: death. There might be more pain, but he had to withstand that torture for as long as necessary. No failure could be tolerated._

_"Uncooperative, are you?" the voice continued. Now he recognized the voice. Rabastan Lestrange. Bastard. "Too bad, traitor. _Imperio_." The casting of the Unforgivable curse confused the man, allowing the curse to take hold more easily. He slowly stood up, all too aware of the pain that caused (something was broken; he was not sure what) but unable to ignore the orders. He wished he had spent more time trying to defend himself against this curse, but he had figured that learning to weasel his way out of many other esoteric compulsion spells and potions was more important._

_When his mind cleared, he realized he was tied to a chair in the middle of one of the torture rooms, which was not much of an improvement from his former status. He determined that one of his legs was broken. Felt like the left one, near the ankle. The lights in the room were almost as blinding as the darkness had been, maybe because he had been in complete darkness for so long._

_The cause did not matter to him anymore. He almost wished he had taken up the offer to run away and renounce the dark openly, but he knew that his sacrifice was the best he could manage. No one would have trusted him had he switched sides. It was a far better thing to die unknown and unacknowledged, having done the right thing and accomplished something of worth._

_The door behind him opened. He did not move at all. He had been ready for that, but he had to admit he wondered who had the great honor of torturing him first. He really hoped it was one of his real friends so that any leniency on their part could thus be excused. That said, he realized that he was thinking now of only one person. Had he really destroyed his life that completely?_

_The door shut after a couple moments, but he knew what it meant. There was to be an audience. He braced himself for who would come. He wanted to tell himself he was not afraid, but he knew he was terrified. He was afraid of the pain; he was afraid of death. Hell, if he was going to be honest, he was afraid of the fear. That thought reminded him of dementors, and he hoped to all the powers in the universe that he would not left at one's mercy. He would take Voldemort himself over a dementor._

_Speak of the devil! Who should walk into his line of sight but the Dark Lord? "I'm honored to see that you're even here to supervise the punishment of trash such as myself," he heard himself say. What had brought that on? Did he want to die more slowly? He should have started begging; the Dark Lord hated that, and he would probably have been put to death much more quickly than what Voldemort had planned. Alas, family tradition and temperament had intervened. Strange how only now was he noticing how nice it was to speak his mind._

_Voldemort's reply was hard to hear. The prisoner realized he probably had taken a hit to the head and was currently experiencing a concussion. Great. Bloody freaking wonderful. The Dark Lord's words broke through the haze when he said, "If you just tell us what you told the Ministry, I will grant you a quick death." Lies, the prisoner knew._

_"I told the Ministry nothing," he replied truthfully. That response was likely to aggravate the Dark Lord more than anything else he could have said. For all the Death Eaters knew, he could have been working on his own. However, he did a bit worse in their eyes._

_"Don't lie," Bellatrix warned him with rancor. He turned to look at her. She was wearing one of her high-and-mighty looks, the expression she generally saved for witches and wizards of inferior blood or blood traitors. Well, it was good to know he finally fell into that latter category in her eyes. Once upon a time, he would have been crushed to see her looking at him like that, but no more. No more. They had washed their hands of each other._

_He was not looking for sympathy or pity or even leniency, so he grinned and told the truth once more, "I told them nothing. I did not lie." They were not asking the right questions, so how did they expect to get the right answers? "Unlike you, I still have a sense of _honor_."_

_He paid for that remark. Bellatrix had a penchant for overreacting, but he supposed that this time she had reason to shout, "_Crucio_!" and not hold back. He had never thought about how much pain the curse actually caused. It was the one Unforgivable he had almost cast, but the reason would have marked him a traitor so much earlier. His sense of time seemed to warp, and the pain felt like it went on forever, while he knew that it was probably only mere minutes. When Bellatrix ended the curse, he slumped back in his chair, hoping he could stand hours of this. He idly wondered why his throat hurt so much, realizing at the same time he had screamed it raw. For some reason, he almost found that funny, but he could not bring himself to laugh._

_The Dark Lord deigned to address him again, "I am sure that you find this most amusing, as I do, —." The prisoner flinched as the Dark Lord said his name. "However, I have other, more important things to attend to, such as how to further thin the ranks of the Aurors." Voldemort ordered, "Bellatrix, take over," and made his way toward the door._

_When the prisoner heard the door open, he shouted, "Go to hell, Tom Marvolo Riddle!" Upon further reflection, that was probably the last thing he should have said. Voldemort then cast the spell to make the Dark Mark burn on the prisoner's arm. The door slammed, and the prisoner weakly looked up at his new captor. Bellatrix was unlikely to have any mercy on him._

_"So, my dear blood traitor, we will begin all over again," Bellatrix said with a wicked smirk. She turned to the man standing next to her (he knew it was Snape, but said nothing: they were in the same boat, both spies) and snapped, "Veritaserum." Snape handed a small vial over to her and was about to speak, but Bellatrix cut him off, saying, "I know, you fool. This breech of security is too grave for us to risk overdosing the traitor so early."_

_"I'm not drinking that," the prisoner said with a noticeable quaver to his voice. Oh, he was scared and in pain, but telling Bellatrix what she wanted was not going to grant him a quick death. She probably would just turn around and torture him longer, just to be sure. "I won't tell you anything. You'll have to kill me," he declared, resolute._

_"Oh, little traitor, yes, you will," Bellatrix said maliciously. "You will tell me everything. In the end, you'll be begging for death. Please tell me that you did not expect any less."_

_He glared and replied as strongly as he could, "I expected you to be a little more free with the curses, and to at least wait a while before going on to the truth serum. Really, Bella, do you think that highly of me, or is this some bizarre way of clearing a debt?"_

_She slapped him hard, and he tasted blood. "I owe you and that wretched bastard nothing," she growled and forced him to drink the Veritaserum. "Now, whom were you working for, if it was not the Ministry of Magic? The Order of the Phoenix?"_

_He did laugh this time, if only to attempt to disturb Bellatrix. The nice thing about the truth serum was that in a low enough dose he could choose not to answer. That way, he could lie by omission, even if it would probably be better in the long run for him to answer. Bellatrix would delay casting the Imperius curse if he at least responded to the questions. "I am not working for either the Ministry of Magic or the Order of the Phoenix," he answered trying to block out the pain and hoping the truth serum was already working._

_Bellatrix was apparently on a tight schedule and, unimpressed with his answer, almost lazily cast, "_Imperio_." Annoyedly, she sighed overdramatically and rephrased her question, "Answer me with the name of the people you work for."_

_The prisoner struggled not to answer. He could not tell her. He could not fail. If she found she could get answers out of him, then Bellatrix would keep hammering away until she discovered exactly what he had done. If she did not kill him upon finding out, he would have the _great_ honor of dying at the hands of Voldemort. Against his will, he started to speak, struggling to keep himself quiet: "I… am working… on behalf…"_

_"Of whom, boy?" Bellatrix demanded sharply. "Answer with a name."_

_"The Central—No… I will not… tell you," he answered, cursing himself for even speaking those two syllables. He hoped she would not jump to the right conclusion._

_"You were working for something that starts with 'central,'" Bellatrix stated, mulling over what he could have meant. She looked back at him with interest. "You couldn't possibly have made a deal with the Americans, could you? You ran away with your tail between your legs and sought protection from a foreign government? How pathetic! How can you possibly dishonor your family further?" she asked him acidly. "Oh, I have a thought. Maybe you could join the Aurors, like that other good-for-nothing blood traitor." She shook her head at him. "Disgusting."_

_"He's a better person than you'll ever be!" the prisoner shouted back, not even registering that the truth serum agreed with his wording._

_"I am so sorry you feel that way," Bellatrix said and cast the Cruciatus curse on him once more. "Of course," she continued over his screams of agony, "What did I expect? Rea—"_

* * *

Terry White woke in a cold sweat with his left arm feeling like it was on fire. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was still early in the morning. There was no use going back to sleep, he knew. None at all. The damn nightmares were coming back and had been since the damn Dark Lord rose again. The damn Mark had been burning on his arm since then, too. Terry could only hope that Voldemort did not know he still lived. His funeral had been convincing enough, what with the stir his relatives had caused. He had never ceased to feel guilty about what he had done. It was a betrayal to let his parents think him dead, but he probably would have been disowned had they known what he had done.

He still sometimes wondered if his sacrifice had been worth it. Had finding the way to kill Voldemort really justified cutting himself off from everything and everyone he had ever known? Or was what he had said to Agent Amherst all those years ago still true? He hoped it was. What had happened to him was of no consequence, but he had never considered the effect his death would have on his family. Now they were almost all dead. His father had died two years after Terry had faked his death. It was presumably a heart attack. His father had always been under a lot of stress, but Terry had always suspected that his "death" contributed to his father's turn for the worse. His mother had died four years later, of God only knew what. The doctors had said natural causes, but Terry wondered (many people despised her). All his aunts and uncles were gone, too, and he only counted a couple of cousins as relatives anymore. He missed them.

It was frustrating, to be so close to finally ending the war and yet so far away. Potter was still the one that had to kill Voldemort once and for all, but they had to gather the rest of the Horcruxes. He needed to find that damn school notebook of Voldemort's. His diary, Terry would call it if suitably out of hearing range of the man. Well, if he were caught once more, he probably would call it a diary, if only to further infuriate the Dark Lord. His final goodbye, that would be. Terry had come to realize that sometimes the Death Eaters would outright kill their victims if said victims angered them enough. Terry figured he could pull that off nowadays, so he would never have to go through what he had ever again.

The memory of being thrown unceremoniously onto the steps of the MCIA's London base of operations by Bellatrix Lestrange and left to die was all too vivid even now, fifteen years later. He had been so lucky that his allies had needed a medwizard to help them that night. Amherst always said that if the medwizard had not been there, Terry would have died. He could only imagine what kind of scandal that would have caused. The only good to come from the whole debacle was that Terry had met Vesta, who had been the medwizard's apprentice. She had been there when he made the decision to fake his death in order to continue his work, and she had known what he had chosen to sacrifice and, to a degree, understood. After all, he could have still gone back to his family, explained what had happened, and _then_ ran. It might have spared them a lot of grief. Then again, that action could have caused more. He had never wanted to hurt anyone.

Now, he was going back to it all. Back to the city, back to his family, back to the Death Eaters. It was nigh suicide, but that was nothing new. At least this time he would not have to fake anything. To Voldemort, Terry White did not exist. A dead pureblood traitor did. With no way for a connection to be made, he could escape back to his identity, and the Death Eaters would never know. Vesta was safe. She was married to an American government official named White, not a British pureblood spy. Of course, there would be many, many charms and spells to hide his identity, both real and assumed. Otherwise, were he captured, he might unwillingly hand over the key to the entire movement against Voldemort, and that could never happen.

* * *

_**Notes**: Look! It's a Harry Potter! As you might have noticed, I don't really focus on him much. However, here is said neurotic ex-Death Eater. Everything will make sense in time if it hasn't already. Trust me. Thank you all for reading and please review if you've the time._

_**Coming up next**: Sirius has a conversation with Harry, and Professor Vector gets interrogated by her cousin._


	7. Lost In The Supermarket

As he walked down the main hall, Sirius wished for what seemed like the thousandth time that he had never suggested that the Order use his childhood home as headquarters. It may have been a brilliant idea, but he really needed to avoid the house. The only decent development had been that the crazy painting of his mother no longer screamed at him. Now it just took one look at him and started sobbing hysterically until, of course, one of the other occupants happened to wander by, at which point the painting would start screaming curses at them. The only thing that would make his day more complete was if Kreacher appeared in front of him and started complaining yet again. At least the slightly sane house elf still obeyed the occasional order.

Sirius's day had started out badly. He was still on edge from that faculty meeting and felt like an outcast who knew absolutely nothing about what he was doing, but he had been more afraid of what… No, the meeting had gone well; he had made semi-intelligent conversation with Auriga Sinistra, who seemed to have changed very little since school. Maybe she was a little more batty, but she had been working with Snape for who knew how long. Plus, she still appeared to have a morbid fascination with diagnosing people with mental disorders, if her notes were anything to go by. Of course, judging by everyone's notes (which Sirius had not been paying an inordinate amount of attention to whenever a particular teacher spoke up), that would mean Snape had a strange obsession with Sinistra and McGonagall sincerely detested Trelawney. The latter made sense; the former, not so much. When it had been his turn to speak, Sirius managed to not make a fool of himself, even if he would have likened his behavior to that of a jackrabbit on speed.

Sirius opened the door to the dining room and was glad but slightly disappointed to find no one there. He left all of his notes and books on the table. Sirius stood there for a moment, hoping that the school year would not be as hectic as he remembered it could be. Granted, he had just been a student then, but the teachers had to have a comparable amount of work. More, even. It was at this point that Sirius started to doubt his sanity. He was willingly returning to high school. If there had been any doubt that he was insane, it had flown out the window. James had to be laughing at him right now. He just had to be. Lily was in all likelihood pretending not to know James. They should have been there to tell him, but they were not because of him.

Being alone in the house was going to drive him insane. Sirius had to find someone else to talk to. There was always someone in the kitchen. He set his coat over one of the chairs before walking out of the room. Sirius was glad to hear Remus's voice when he was about to open the door. This was probably the best-case scenario. He could talk to his friend about everything, maybe even… Well, it would take some time to get up the courage to talk about that. Maybe he would wait for some more information, too. Just to be safe.

Sirius opened the door, expecting to see Remus talking to Molly or (even better) Tonks. He was partially right. Remus was there, as was Tonks, but so was Harry. This was not going to go well. Maybe he could still back up without Harry (who mercifully had his back to the door) noticing. Remus seemed to catch on to what Sirius planned on attempting and sent him a disapproving look as Tonks exclaimed brightly (she was no doubt enjoying this; it had to be revenge for Sirius telling Remus about the episode with the Underground), "Wotcher, Sirius!" That girl was altogether too much like her mother. Andromeda would no doubt be proud that her daughter was carrying on the tradition of annoying him to levels heretofore nonexistent.

"Nymphadora, how nice to see you," Sirius replied in a similar tone. She of course glared at him for using her first name. Ha. Thought she could get away with that, did she? Harry, on the other hand, was now staring at him, and Sirius felt yet another wave of guilt. "Hey, Harry. I, uh, I'm sorry I haven't… visited or written or called," he said, wishing he could fade into the wallpaper. "Did you just get here?" Oh, this was so much worse than Hogwarts. So much worse.

Harry nodded, trying to look nonchalant. Unfortunately, it was one of those expressions Sirius remembered very well. It was purely James's I'm-angry-at-you-but-I'm-trying-to-be-civil-and-failing-miserably-because-I-have-no-poker-face look. James had never been much of an actor in that regard. When it came to teachers, he could lie until judgment day, but when it came to friends or people he cared about, it was all too easy to read him like a book. "So, what have you been up to?" Harry asked innocently. Teenagers. Oh, if Sirius could not even deal with Harry, how in the name of God was he going to survive teaching a school of them?

Wait. What was he going to say? He was in no way, shape, or form going to tell about the teaching post. Not yet, anyway. Sirius himself could not even deal with his new job, and with Harry as angry as he seemed, that particular revelation would probably make the situation worse. However, Sirius was not going to take the chance. "Getting things in order," Sirius replied hesitantly. "Doing things for the Order." Well, that made sense. Maybe he should just come clean. Remus looked like he was going to hit his head against the table if Sirius continued to be so vague. "I've been cleaning my flat up, and I got a job," Sirius added. Could he have said anything any more inane? Wait, no. There was still the weather. Actually, the weather had been rather nice today. _No_. No talking about the weather.

"That's nice," Harry replied coolly yet casually. He was using Lily's interrogation techniques. He may not have known it, but he was. The similarity was starting to disconcert Remus, too. Tonks, on the other hand, looked as placid as could be. Sirius started to wonder if he had lost Harry's trust because he had neglected to do anything. Why did Sirius feel like he was the misbehaving teenager and Harry the disappointed adult? Harry then continued, "What stopped you from—Wait. You know how to use a telephone?"

That was a rather odd question. A little confused, Sirius replied frankly, "Of course. It's much easier than getting a neck cramp from the fireplace and virtually untraceable if you're worried about Death Eaters. Why?" He then remembered the fact that, from his family's house, one could easily suspect that the residents probably knew absolutely nothing about Muggle culture due to prejudices. The look on Harry's face seemed to communicate the same sentiment. "Oh, right. That. Well, I never saw the point in ignoring how Muggles do things, especially when they have a better solution. Exhibit one, the telephone. I really have to hand it to them."

Harry seemed to process the information. He was a little less angry now, if Sirius could judge by his facial expression. This time Harry was much less bitter when he asked, "Why didn't you call or write?" Remus took that as a cue to leave and dragged Tonks out of the room with him. Sirius sat down at the kitchen table, thankful there was not going to be an audience.

"I'm not quite sure myself," Sirius admitted, smiling wanly. This was in all likelihood going to be a painful conversation. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. I really am. I've been in some sort of a daze lately. I mean, it's hard to get back to normal life, but that's no excuse. It really isn't. I know that. Avoiding you wasn't fair, and I was wrong, but…" Sirius paused. What in the world could he do or say? There was not really anything, was there? He had screwed up, like he always did. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Sirius asked hopefully. This was certainly not the conversation he had expected to be having.

Harry seemed pensive. "Yes," he finally said. "Movies and Diagon Alley. And you have to help me with the Defense Against the Dark Arts paper our new teacher assigned us. He (or she) is crazy. Eighteen inches on one spell? You're getting off light, you know that?"

Sirius grinned in relief. "It'll teach you how to focus your writing," he defended. "It's not that much, Harry, essay-wise. But, yes, I understand I'm getting off light. As to the punishment, what's in theatres? I haven't seen a decent film at the cinema since 1980. Well, there was one or two in 'eighty-one, and a James Bond film, but… Actually, that Harrison Ford film was pretty good, now that I think about it. I wonder if they ever made another." Sirius was well aware that he was rambling. Remus was undoubtedly listening and probably commenting to himself that some things never changed. "Have you picked up your school books yet?" Sirius asked, changing the subject. "Or were you waiting to go with your friends?"

Harry smiled back. He seemed glad that Sirius had reassured him that it was personal problems that were behind Sirius's behavior. "Well, I was planning on going with Ron and Hermione, but it would be fun if you came," Harry said.

Sirius was not so unused to teenager-speak that he didn't know what that meant. Roughly translated, it meant, "I want to go with my friends, but now I've dug myself a hole, because while I want to spend more time with you, I still really want to go with my friends. Damn." Sirius smiled as he heard what sounded like teenagers running down the stairs. In all likelihood, it was Ron who led the stampede. Sirius suggested, "Well, maybe it would be best if you went with those two; we can go to Diagon Alley together some other time. Besides, I'm sure you want to catch up with them. I'll check film times at a local theatre."

Ron burst into the room at that point. Sirius watched as Harry and Ron caught up and ran off to go see everyone else. Harry seemed a lot happier now, even when it had just been Ron talking to him for less than a minute. Sirius envied the feeling. As he continued musing, Remus walked back into the room. "Harry seems a lot better," he commented.

Sirius nodded absently and murmured, "It must be hard for him, living with those people. I still don't understand how Dumbledore could let Harry be raised by a family that hates him. It's not fair. Not to him, not to the rest of us who have to live up to the idealized standards Harry sets. I'm not perfect, far from it, and I can't… God, Remus, he's so much like James and Lily!" Sirius shook his head and tried to keep from breaking down. He was speaking nonsense again. Why did everything seem to be crashing down on him today?

"Sirius, this isn't what you're upset about," Remus said calmly. Sirius wished Remus wasn't so goddamn patient all of the time, but at least he never yelled. "What's really wrong? You came in looking to talk about something, not have a confrontation with Harry." Remus grimaced. "And what you just said is not about Harry, either, but I'll let it slide yet again."

"There was never anything going on, Remus. I was just a bit of a spaz back then, that's all," Sirius said tiredly. They had been going over that for years. He really wondered why Remus kept bringing it up. It was over and done with. "As to why I'm not—The Arithmancy teacher. You never spoke a word. Never. I could have done with a little warning. Nothing major, but I'd have reacted better to the situation rather than just sitting there in denial."

"Sirius, you are under enough stress. I thought it would be counter-productive to tell you," Remus said patiently. "There's more going on than you think, and I do not think it is my place to talk about any of it. You two need to talk. Maybe I should have warned you that she teaches there, but that's all I would have said. I don't want to get involved."

Sirius looked off to the side. What Remus had said did not bode well, but he was right. If there was something that Remus was dead set against telling him, then there was a damned good reason for it. He was right not to have mentioned the teacher. Sirius turned back to Remus and nodded in reassurance that he understood. How had his life spiraled out of control in the past couple of weeks? It was so much easier on the run. So much. Now, now he had to deal with specters and shadows and taxes and those left behind. He could not risk alienating those who were still willing to support him. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough day," Sirius murmured.

"I know," Remus replied understandingly. Sirius still did not know how Remus could calm someone down so quickly, but he appreciated it. Thankfully, Remus also knew how to change the topic. The man should have been an ambassador or a therapist or something. "I heard that Dumbledore requested you help that spy out with the transition," he mentioned. "Why do you think he asked you, of all people?"

"It's something suitably brainless," Sirius decided morosely. "The spy's a Yank. I'm probably the least qualified. I mean, the last time I was in the same room as one of them, I punched his lights out. How is this going to be any better?"

"Maybe this is Dumbledore's way of helping you to somehow work your way through that," Remus suggested. It would make sense, that was for sure, and that sort of maneuvering was typically a Dumbledore kind of thing to do. "It would make sense if he was the one that you decked. However, there might be a different ulterior motive. I don't know."

"What about the rest of the faculty? You know about them; the Arithmancy teacher has American cousins. It might even be one of her relatives," Sirius argued. "I'm the least diplomatic person in the Order, and the—Actually, the only less diplomatic person both in the Order and at Hogwarts is Snape. So, why me? I'm more likely to, as said, render said spy unconscious."

"Did Dumbledore tell you who this person is?" Remus asked. This conversation was one both of them could easily continue without causing pain or awkward silences, like altogether too many other topics did. It had never been like that before, but almost fifteen years had passed since they had been able to have a normal conversation.

"Yeah. The spy's a man by the name of Terry White. A little younger than us. Married to Vesta White," Sirius answered. He grinned and continued, "In any case, they have two kids, both eleven and starting school this year. Their names are Leo and Macha. The son's first name follows more the Black family tradition than the White family's. The Whites tend to name their children after gods and goddesses rather than celestial objects, like my crazy family does."

"Really? Two kids?" Remus repeated concernedly. "No wonder Dumbledore chose you, then." Sirius stared at his friend like Remus had turned into Tonks. Remus rolled his eyes and explained, "Sirius, if you're going to have someone guard the children of a spy, are you going to have Snape, whose allegiance is supposedly questionable, or Molly, who is as of yet unproven on the battlefield, lead them around, or are you going to have a man who, without a doubt, is not only on our side but can hold off a good number of Death Eaters?"

Sirius smiled at that. "I guess that's true," he admitted. "I can't just believe that anyone would still think anywhere near that highly of me. Then again, I was quite the Auror, wasn't I?"

Remus grinned. "Some things really do never change, do they?" he asked wryly.

Sirius protested, "I am not an arrogant pain in the ass." He grinned, and they both laughed. Well, at least they never had a dull moment.

* * *

Artemesia decided that her life had gone to hell in a hand-basket. Her cousin— one of the slightly crazy older sisters of Diana—was going to be living with her for an indefinite amount of time. It was not a fun realization, especially after she found out that her crazy cousin's idiot husband was back on the job. All of that was compounded on the other serious problem. In conclusion, Artemesia would have to put up with yet another eccentric relative, the nigh-suicidal spy, and said serious problem without having a nervous breakdown. Maybe she would strangle Diana first for suggesting Vesta and her kids stay with them. Unfortunately, they were already at the airport.

"I know; you really don't have to ream me yet again, Artemesia," Diana muttered.

"I was not glaring at you!" Artemesia protested. Diana was staring at her incredulously. "Okay, fine. I am slightly angry with you. I just wish you'd mentioned earlier that Terry is… You know how annoying it is that I can't even discuss why I'm angry with you in public?"

Diana looked irritated. "It's not my fault. Besides, you've never had any trouble with what he does before!" she pointed out. However, Diana thought better of what she had said and added quietly, "That said, You-Know-Who was never alive again before." She sighed. "Okay, I get that, but what's the problem with Vesta staying at our place? Well, your place. The kids will be off to school in a couple weeks, as will you. Then it's Vesta and I house-sitting."

Artemesia took a calming breath and mentally started to count to ten. She only got to five. "It's not any of the children. It's the fact that in the house, there will be you and me and Vesta. Terry, I'm guessing, is going to be off on his own. The kids will be occupied with each other in one corner of the house. We will be in another corner. You, me, and Vesta. How long will it take for pandemonium to break out? Ten minutes?"

Diana shrugged. "I hid all of the sharp pointy objects and my personal stash of garroting wire, so I'm wagering about three days," she decided. "I should remind you that if Terry is around, the apocalypse is averted. Come on. Vesta's not that bad unless you're hiding something."

Artemesia glared at her younger cousin. Diana just had to be perceptive, didn't she? It was a curse; that's what it was. Any time that something important happened, something else had to hit the fan as well. She glanced over at Gemma, who was patiently waiting and pretending to not be listening. The smokescreen would be better if the book she was reading was not _Vanity Fair_, especially since Gemma had decided a week before that the book was too tedious to get through. Then again, maybe she was sending a message. "You know, Diana, that it's just the normal problems, but Vesta will be sure that it's something else altogether," Artemesia said.

"I know my own sister, Artemesia," Diana reminded her. She groaned in realization. "What have I done? She's going to be giving you the third degree! Then read me the riot act!" Artemesia felt no sympathy for Diana. After all, it had _so_ been her idea.

"Aunt Vesta's here," Gemma mentioned, breaking up Artemesia and Diana's argument.

There Vesta was. After the obligatory hugging and kissing upon seeing a relative who is visiting, Vesta handed some of the luggage to her younger sister and addressed Artemesia, "So, how are things? Has the summer treated you well?"

Artemesia smiled. Oh, Vesta was not going to get information out of her that easily. "It's been going good. Not really any problems at work this year; at least Auriga hasn't been up to her usual coffee cup throwing tricks," she replied and laughed lightly, hoping Vesta would be satisfied with that bit of information and get the message that they would talk about it later when they were alone. The children were talking amongst themselves. Well, Leo and Macha were bickering with each other, and Gemma was amused by their and commented every so often. "It's been fine," Artemesia repeated. "You?"

"I've been offered a post at St. Mungo's," Vesta replied conversationally. "They hope I can do something with some patients in one of the curse wards." If nothing else, Artemesia had to admit that Vesta was a gifted medwitch who had been working with some of the best in her field for some time. Not to brag or anything.

"What, no asking how I'm doing?" Diana demanded petulantly. "Some sister you are, dumping your luggage on me and then otherwise ignoring my existence! For shame!" She sighed exasperatedly. "If you even care, I've also been well and working hard. Alas, my coworkers only throw pencils and deadly weapons at each other instead of coffee mugs."

Vesta grinned. "I suspected that sort of report, and I'm glad to hear that you're doing well, baby sister. However, Mom would like you to call before the next millennium," she mentioned. "That said, your brother-in-law says hi. I don't know why he had me pass on the message instead of calling you himself, but you know him. Thinks You-Know-Who's monitoring even the phone lines, forgetting that any technology past a gas lamp is anathema." Her smile lessened a little. "He has his reasons," Vesta repeated quietly before resuming her former tone and said, "In any case, your niece and nephew missed you."

"Hi, Aunt Diana," Leo said brightly as Macha exclaimed overenthusiastically, "Yes, we missed you!" Gemma was trying not to laugh. Artemesia smiled. The children reminded her of when she and her cousins had been younger; then it had been them who had run rampant through the halls and ignored the grown-ups (who existed only to ruin their plans) and built forts out of sheets and gossiped about the idiot boys at school. Actually, Artemesia had been the only one that complained. Then again, the others hadn't had to suffer a certain four obnoxious Gryffindors.

"I'm sure you will tell her all about it on the drive home," Artemesia said, with a saccharine grin. "Right, Diana? Vesta and I will take the luggage," she continued. Revenge was sometimes a dish best served cold, especially when it included three (most likely sugar-high) children and an enclosed space. "Oh, and Gemma, honey? Don't drive her crazy."

Diana rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I put up with you aside from the free room and board," she declared. Turning to the children, who were discussing the merits of the newest Disney film, she said, "Come on, time to go. It's almost time for my soaps." Gemma was about to protest, but Diana cut her off, saying, "No, we're listening to what I want to in the car. My car, my rules, my music. Besides, you said yourself that Billy Idol isn't that bad." Diana did a quick survey of her charges before saying, "Okay, men. Fall out." She started to walk off.

Macha and Leo stared at each other and then at Gemma, who shrugged and ran to catch up. Vesta smiled at her children and told them to go with their aunt. The two then bolted off after their aunt and cousin. "So, how are you, really?" Vesta then seriously asked Artemesia.

"I'm fine, really, Vesta," Artemesia replied frankly. She laughed softly. "Actually, it's weird, but I really am. I guess I've just realized I'm a lot better off than I could be."

"Meaning Sirius is a nervous wreck?" Vesta said, making a stab at translating Artyese.

"'Nervous wreck' doesn't even begin to cover it," Artemesia replied, picking up one of the bags the children had been carrying (Diana had taken two of the others). She glanced at the bag, puzzled. Shifting gears, she asked, "What did they pack in this thing, rocks? It weighs a ton!"

"Close enough. It's actually books, and the only normal suitcase of the lot," Vesta said, looking at the other three bags. "The others have charms and such on them to make them seem like they are the weight they're supposed to be, according to what the x-ray machine sees."

"Why did you decide to fly here?" Artemesia asked, a little irritated with the luggage. "It would have been so much quicker if you had Floo'd here, and then we wouldn't have to worry about dragging the luggage around the airport. However, thank you for not choosing Gatwick."

Vesta shrugged. "It's complicated. Attracts less attention, for one. Also, I really like airplanes," she said, picking up two of the remaining bags as Artemesia picked up the third. "And, of course, this allows for the two of us to talk privately without any chance of interruptions of the Diana kind. So, are you sure you're okay with me staying at your house?"

Artemesia nodded. "Of course. I complain about everything, you know that, but I'm only there three months of the year. It's fine, really. Besides, as Diana said, she hid all of the knives and her garroting wire," she said and paused. "I really hope she was kidding about the wire."

"Of course. There are spells for that," Vesta replied reassuringly as they finally started to make their way to the car. She smiled at Artemesia's stunned expression and said, "Don't worry! I'm just kidding." Vesta stayed silent for another couple of moments before asking, "How bad is the situation with Voldemort now? St. Mungo's is bringing in as many good medwitches and medwizards as it possibly can. It isn't back to how it was yet, is it?"

Artemesia shook her head. "No, not yet. As far as I can tell, it's all just preparation for the coming storm," she replied. "The headmaster's concerned, so I have a feeling that the fears are not all that unfounded. The Aurors are working overtime, I think, and the _Prophet_'s not exactly the most optimistic newspaper in the world right now. Finally, the Ministry is bringing in foreign agents. They want to get this over and done with before the war can reescalate."

"We should have stayed in America," Vesta murmured. "I know Terry considers helping to achieve Voldemort's downfall his purpose, but I wish he'd stay out of it. It's worse that I took the damn job at St. Mungo's. Artemesia, the kids, they'll be safe, right?"

Artemesia nodded. "Of course they will," she reassured her cousin. "The headmaster is the only person Voldemort's ever been afraid of. Strange, that. One would think that his priorities had changed because of Harry Potter. That said, don't worry. You've given the Death Eaters no reason to go after you or the children, and Terry won't use his name. You know that. So, the only way that they would find you to be a good target would be because you're working for the hospital. I'm sure everything will be fine." Artemesia hoped her pep talk sounded reassuring.

"Famous last words, Artemesia. Famous last words," Vesta reminded her. "God, I'm so worried about Terry. He's going to get himself killed if he's not careful. And if he gets found out… If they realize who he used to be…"

"Then he'll be fine. Trust me. If that happens, he'll probably suddenly find himself stuck in a Department of Mysteries safe-house or locked in a guest room at Hogwarts," Artemesia said. "I think he'd probably prefer the safe-house, though. Getting stuck in the same building as the faculty and students of the oldest Wizarding school in Britain probably won't be his idea of fun."

"Thank you for the bizarre image of you and your friend following my husband around, occasionally throwing coffee mugs at other unsuspecting members of the faculty," Vesta said. "And, of course, he would attempt to escape to the library, only to be tracked down and dragged back to said guest room by the annoyed and overworked Defense professor at your behest."

Artemesia threw a wary look at her cousin. "Okay, Vesta? Remember how when you say things like that, they tend to come true? Well, the fact that we can both so easily imagine that scenario doesn't really help right now. Let's not mention it ever again," Artemesia suggested.

"You still haven't talked to him, have you?" Vesta realized irritatedly. "God damn it, Artemesia, you're going to drive yourself crazy if you keep this up. If you're avoiding him because you think he's got too much to deal with, then consider this: what if the reason he's falling apart is partially due to the fact he doesn't know how to deal with you, either?" Vesta shook her head and declared, "You know what? You two deserve each other! Just make the driving each other insane thing official so the rest of us can live in peace. It solves everything!"

"I am not marrying Sirius Black just because of that!" Artemesia shouted once the two had finally gotten into the car after loading all of the luggage in the trunk. She had waited, of course, so no one would hear her fervent denial. Why were they talking about this now?

"Fine, then. Deal with the awkward sexual tension for the rest of the year, see what I care," Vesta replied calmly. She then said, "Good God, what will the all of the children think? It certainly would not be normal, what with the Defense and Arithmancy teachers avoiding each other like the plague. Wow. You'll be the gossip of the school. Congratulations."

"No one notices Auriga and Severus flirting! Why should they notice that Sirius and I are making an active effort to pretend the other doesn't exist?" Artemesia mentioned in her defense.

"You mean your friend actually likes the guy she throws coffee at?" Vesta asked, confused.

Artemesia just stared at her cousin. It was like talking to a brick wall sometimes. "Of course she likes him," Artemesia answered, dumbfounded her cousin had not caught on to that. "She won't admit it, but she does. As to him, I don't even know if he even knows what he feels. Heck, I'm not sure he even knows what side of the war he's on! As I said, if no one notices Auriga's half-baked plans and hijinks or questions Severus's storming through the halls, then it's damn near impossible that the student body will notice a carefully orchestrated plan on the part of two of the least apparently insane professors to avoid one another!"

"Fine. Fine. No more arguing. However, can I ask you one thing?" Vesta said placatingly. Artemesia nodded, suspicious. Vesta then smiled, causing Artemesia to have a very bad feeling about her question. Pointedly, Vesta asked, "How can the two of you 'carefully orchestrate' a plan if neither of you talks to the other?"

Artemesia glared at her cousin before replying, "Magic. _Obviously_."

* * *

_**C****oming Soon**: Luna's adventures in Diagon Alley, and Mr. White makes a trip to Hogwarts._


	8. Prophetic Soul

Luna Lovegood was in a mood. She was not quite sure what mood she was in, but she knew she was in one. She had a seventh sense about these things. Gemma was wandering around the store with her and Macha and Leo, Gemma's cousins. Luna liked them. Macha was snide and sarcastic without being too scathing, and Leo just tended to be a little too frank for his own good. Luna wished his middle name was Frank; then, she could make amusing comments that were puns, but they would not be as funny-ironic as they could be, which was depressing.

Gemma and the relatives of Gemma were doing their annual shopping for school supplies activity. Luna had decided to come along to study how the two cousins shopped for school supplies. She was particularly interested in seeing if there were any major differences in the American and British schools of magic. There seemed to be little difference between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang in terms of materiel and technique. That, and Luna was fascinated by how similar they looked. Sure, it was not strange for cousins to look alike, but the resemblance was uncanny. They looked too similar to be second cousins.

Luna turned her focus back on Gemma's parental unit and the twins' mother. The former had been agitated that the latter had been contacted by (as far as Luna could divine) the former's ex-boyfriend-type-person (neither of the adults would divulge a name, which Luna found infuriating) at the request of Professor Dumbledore to help the latter get around London since she was a foreigner and ostensibly not know where Diagon Alley was, etc. Luna thought it smelled of conspiracy in the highest degree. The parental units thought so, as well.

Macha spoke: "So, Gemma, why's Aunt Arty all confrazzled?" Luna liked Macha. She made up words with a respectable ease. Macha also displayed some of the inquisitiveness and problem-solving skills of her most excellent cousin. It probably ran in the family.

"I dunno. She's been speaking to Diana in low tones about the Defense teacher, I think," Gemma replied. Luna thought she was on the right track. There had to be more to it, though. Why would whoever was teaching upset Professor Vector? That said, there would be lots of Defense homework this year, too, especially if the summer essay was anything to go by.

Luna had been wrong before, though. She could have sworn that Cedric Diggory was supposed to have bought the farm during the Triwizard Tournament and that Peter Pettigrew was supposed to be off cavorting with the rest of the doom-munching henchminions. The mistakes were enough to cause Luna to distrust her perception. However, she was pretty sure that Diana White was an operative of some agency and Gemma's absent uncle had the same sort of job, except riskier and more spy-like, which would make sense, judging by the conversation of the parental unit and aunt-person of Gemma. Luna made the executive decision to spread some misinformation and said, "Maybe the phrase 'the Defense teacher' is code for something." There was a niggling feeling in the back of her mind, once she had said that. The omen boded ill. Maybe the thought was truer than she thought it was.

"Right. It's code for what?" Leo said, obviously not taking Luna so seriously. She did not mind his distrust; she had tried to lie. "Face it, we're not gonna find out."

"Until everything's been declared a state of emergency," Macha muttered irritatedly.

Luna decided she approved of the Weasley twins much more than Gemma's relatives (but this was no reflection upon Gemma; Gemma was a very good friend and person). She shrugged and wandered off to go look at other potions ingredients (for they were in a potions ingredients shop). Gemma followed quickly. "I do not think it's a good idea to press your mum about this, Alphecca," Luna stated honestly and concernedly.

"They're worried about their dad," Gemma replied, defending her cousins. Luna found the action admirable. Gemma shook her head and whispered, "I don't want to know why Mum's so freaked about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It's not going to be pretty, I know that, especially since Mum's driving Diana and Aunt Vesta and Professor Sinistra crazy about it all. I wish she'd just get it all straightened out, you know?" She glanced over at her cousins. "I'm really worried about Uncle Terry. I don't want to see him get hurt, but his job's…"

Luna nodded sagely. "I know. Daddy was very much against it. If he had made the decision, nothing would be much different from how it was. For all we know, all will be fine," she said reassuringly but knew it would be much more difficult when the prodigal and exile met.

Gemma was looking at her curiously. It irked Luna a little until she realized her expression did not really fit what she had said. "Are you all right, Luna?" Gemma asked. Apparently even Gemma thought that Luna was acting strangely. Luna was loosing her touch.

She shook her head to reassure her friend. "I'm fine. The stars and cards are just a tad uncooperative at the moment," Luna explained. "They're not as reliable as they have been in times past, and now they may contradict themselves. An uncomfortable job hazard." She exhaled loudly and smiled. "Don't worry, mon amie. I shall overcome."

Gemma tilted her head to the side. "Are you sure? I don't want to abandon you or anything," she said earnestly, looking a little hurt. "I couldn't take it if I lost your trust. You're one of my closest friends, Luna. You can be honest with me, really."

Luna stared at her friend, finally understanding part of a most annoying puzzle: The hunter's steadfast ally still defends the prince when the broken star leans on the moon and the warrior takes the stage. Then again, most of it made no sense whatsoever. Luna doubted the import of the snippet. She felt most of it was a statement of fact and not a prediction. "It's fine, Gemma. You don't want to know what ghosties haunt my mind sometimes," Luna replied cheerfully. "It's all hellfire and brimstone and manna from heaven." The reply, of course, had its desired effect, and as Gemma tried to understand what exactly Luna was getting at, Luna was off thinking about dueling in the workplace and death by drapery. It frightened her. The prisoner had to be imprisoned, but not specified was the where or the who or the verb's meaning. She did not want her friends—any of them: past, present, future—to get hurt or be hurt or hurt.

Aye, o'er 'ere, there be monsters. The chimera would duel the basilisk's servant (a bizarre, slightly eagle-like snake) whilst the lion would fight the basilisk yet again. Hm. Symbolism wasn't too clear in that last one. Was the lion symbolism a dig at a person thinking themselves to be the messiah? But, Harry Potter was a Gryffindor _lion_. Therefore, Harry was a savior, which was what the majority of the Wizarding community considered him due to how he inadvertently defeated the Dark Lord (which was so much easier to say and think and write than the overly long euphemisms for the psychopath) for a while. Actually, just saying Voldemort was so much easier. Besides, if anyone became unnerved, Luna could just say she was practicing her poetical French skills. What kind of Dark Lord named himself "Flight of Death"? It sounded like a bad Muggle horror film with airplanes. At least some had the decency to name themselves nonsensical things or ironic names that foreshadow later plot developments. "You don't want to know what my steel trap considers, Alphecca," Luna decided finally, once and for all (for at least the next week or so). "I go from philosophizing to critiquing the word choice of super-villains and what that means for the outcome of the world within seconds."

"Meaning you wish You-Know-Who had at least had the decency to come up with a pseudonym on a level worthy of Sauron?" Gemma replied wryly. "Trust me, I'd like to hear that. Much more interesting than—" She picked up a jar off of the wall and stuck out her tongue as she read the label. "—Vampire liver. How do you get a vampire's liver, anyway? And _why_?"

"I imagine it's something like Prometheus being chained to a rock to have his liver pecked out for all of eternity," Luna replied distractedly. "Except with a vampire and proper utensils in the hands of professionals. Let's ask Professor Snape what it would be used for."

"I'd rather fall in love with a vampire or two, die to save the world, and avert multiple apocalypses than be in the debt of that unfair git desperately in need of a shower or a thousand," Gemma declared with disgust. "Good God and Merlin's socks, when was the last time he washed his hair? His first year in school? I mean, there have to be dirt layers comparable to the sediment layers of the Earth's crust on each individual hair! Consider the dandruff!"

"Somehow, I feel that you are your father's daughter," Luna chose to respond and glanced over at the adults. "That was not something I'd imagine your mother would say in a million years. Therefore, it must be from the other parental unit." Of course it was inevitable that Luna considered the dandruff, and she answered solemnly, "Consider the lilies á la Monty Python. Also: Ew! Layers of dead skin cells resembling a geology diagram! Bad images! However, I think I saw his hair clean once or twice a year or two ago."

Their conversation continued much along the same vein (the bizarre habits of teachers and vampires) until they exited the store. Gemma's mother was very nice to Luna, and Luna appreciated that but had to wonder why Gemma's mother kept looking around, expecting someone to be following them. There was a portent of death tailing them, but Luna felt like it would be rude to point him out. She figured it had something to do with Gemma's uncle and cousin being spies. Why else would the phoenixes insist on keeping an eye on Gemma's family? Luna shook her head and resumed conversation with the wide-eyed, soon-to-be first-years with Gemma mediating. Of course, Luna and Gemma gave them the abbreviated description of teachers and their habits. Luna covered the teachers Gemma detested. When they got to the Defense teacher, Gemma explained, "There's been a different one every year since, like, the early eighties or before we were born, even. Last year, it was a Death Eater pretending to be the famous Auror Mad-Eye Moody. The year before that, it was Remus Lupin. He was really nice and a good teacher. I liked him. Everyone was sad when he resigned. Well, many were sad. It's complicated."

"It was a harebrained, self-centered poof the year before that," Luna added sagely. "Lockheart was a nimrod. According to the current fifth-years, a cage of pixies vanquished him." Before that, it had been a guy with a Voldemort parasite on the back of his head, but Luna left that to silence. Just because all of the teachers had been rather disappointing (save Professor Lupin) she did not immediately condemn the new teacher, even if he did give out crazy surprise homework assignments over the summer.

All the different years of students recieved separate Defense assignments, and the fourth-years got an essay in which they had to research in depth one of the supposed hybrid species or groups of humans afflicted with ailments considered dark. Luna was still not sure which camp vampires belonged to (Was it a virus or something mystical? Some accounts said a human need only be bitten to become a vampire; others said they had to drink the blood of a vampire. And then there was the soul thing!) even if it were clear they were a topic that could be considered. She had cited _Dracula_ quite frequently. It was surprisingly accurate. Well, for a Muggle novel, anyway. Apparently, the third years had only had to write a summary of what they had done in the past two years. The sixth and seventh years had essays that were from actual NEWTs, according to Luna's sources. To Luna, it sounded like the teacher was trying to gage where everyone was. Sneaky, that was, but she could not deny that it was intelligent.

Finally, after visiting every store except Ollivander's, they arrived at the wandmaker's shop. Luna loved the place and particularly enjoyed trying to have a staring contest with Mr. Ollivander. She was convinced she could keep from blinking longer than he could. Gemma never really cared for the shop, even though her mother was mostly ambivalent. Mrs. White looked a little lost from Luna's perspective as Ollivander greeted them. Of course, Gemma's aunt recovered quite quickly and pleasantries were exchanged. Ollivander looked a little puzzled as to what type of wand would fit each of Gemma's cousins. Luna noticed how Ollivander kept glancing at the twins and shaking his head slightly, muttering about impossibilities. The adults did not catch it, but Luna was slightly thrown by that. Granted, Gemma's skittishness was starting to get on Luna's nerves, but she wondered. Ollivander found the wands for the twins with ease (one try each), so they went to eat at a restaurant in Diagon Alley.

Luna thanked Gemma's mother and aunt for the nice meal and for letting her follow them around all day before wandering home. Her father was in his study talking to a man with a nice voice when she came in. Sounded like they were friends, too. Luna hid about half-way up the stairs to wait for her father to conclude whatever discussion he was having before she made a carefully planned stampede into his study to relate the events of the day.

She did not mean to listen.

Her father's friend warned, "It's too quiet, Dan. There's something up, and I don't think it has to do with Pettigrew getting what was coming to him. Voldemort's planning something."

Her father sighed and said, "I know. We're trying to figure it as soon as we can, but the security around the project is frightening. How are your efforts at infiltration? Have you made contact yet? Or are you almost desperate enough to fall back on the enemies you know?"

"I've made contact, but I'm not renewing those … vows, if you can call them that. I'm for the highest bidder, as far as they know, and I've made it quite clear that the Ministry's not paying me enough," the coworker-from-the-other-job said (Luna knew when it was work-talk).

"Are you saying you're from our department? I'm sure they'd be happy to have an informant give them insight into our standard operating procedures," Luna's father reasoned. "Or are you being vague so that they won't do a employee search and discover the truth?"

"Mysteries doesn't have a list, and Voldemort's always wanted a way to strike at them. He had some grand master plan, from what I remember from the last time," the friend/coworker contined. "I don't like how close I'm treading to the truth… If Vesta knew…" He broke off.

"I wouldn't worry. The Order has someone watching over them. When the children leave for school, your sister-in-law will be there to watch over your wife. I doubt she needs it, though," Luna's father said goodnaturedly. Luna managed to stop listening to the conversation for the next couple of minutes (it sounded extra top secret), but she was a little surprised when her father showed his friend to the door (why did he not apparate?) and said, as an afterthought, "Oh, and I would advise against visiting Hogwarts unless you want to be locked in a broom closet."

The friend laughed nervously. "In what possible way could it be any worse? I know to avoid certain people I knew, but why with the explicit…?" Luna glanced around the corner to watch the realization hit the man, which it did. "_No_. That can't be—What exactly has—But—_Why_?" the man stammered out. His demeanor turned frustrated with a hint of resignation. "Great. Bloody wonderful. Is that school a confluence of people that could recognize me? As if my old teachers weren't bad enough… Old friends, my sister-in-law, the rest of the staff…"

"Don't worry; I just wanted you to know. Besides, it's not like you'll have to go anywhere near the school anytime soon," Luna's father reassured his friend. The two adults said farewell, and the younger of the two left. "You can come out now, Luna."

Luna scampered down the stairs and tried to look as innocent as possible. "I heard nothing of the conversation you didn't have with the man who does not exist," she denied.

Luna's father smiled and replied, "Don't worry, otter. It's fine. We were just catching up, really. He's always been a little self-conscious …and a little paranoid. Certainly was like that back in school, I'll have you know. Your mother always felt a little sorry for him."

Luna nodded, finding her mother's appraisal to be accurate. "It must have been hard, living in the shadows of reputations and those he knew. I wouldn't want that." She shook her head, suddenly feeling incredible upset. "He was alone, wasn't he? I can understand that." She sighed and, returning to her former mood, said, "Oh, Daddy? The outing with Gemma was most informative. Her cousins are slightly annoying, and we suspect that her mum is all flipped out."

Amused, her father shook his head. "Does Gemma share your opinion of her relatives?"

Luna shrugged. "I think they get on her nerves every so often, but she likes them well enough," she replied to the first question. Her father sent her a pointed look. "All of us think Professor Vector's acting a little off. I think 'Defense teacher' is code for something. That, or the coming school year will have everyone taking Arithmancy and Defense wondering why their teachers are acting like hormone-crazed teenagers," Luna admitted. "To be Frank."

"Well, it sounds like it's complicated, but if Gemma's mother really is that nervous or upset, then it's probably best you didn't draw attention to it," Luna's father said, obviously remembering some anecdotes from his school days concerning Gemma's mother and stress. He glanced over at his study. "Say, otter, I've finished enough work today, so we could go to see a film. Your fall term starts tomorrow. What do you say?"

Luna grinned and declared, "Excellent." Later, as they started to walk out the door, Luna asked cheerfully, "Will we see a Kohtore hiding behind the screen?"

"Of course, otter," her father said with a smile.

* * *

Terry had just finished his meeting with Dumbledore about his work concerning the Horcruxes. Apparently the old headmaster had been searching for them, too. Luckily, there was only one unlocated. The discussion had slightly disturbed Terry when Dumbledore had mentioned the Horcrux in the cave. "You didn't try to get it, did you?" Terry had asked, very concerned. The poison in the cave and the inferi were not trifles to be dealt with.

"No, do not fear," Dumbledore had reassured Terry. "I was not planning on undertaking that task for some time. I was searching for a way to reach the Horcrux without imbibing the potion. Have you found another way to reach it?"

Terry had paused for half a minute before finally answering, "No. Drinking the potion is the only way, but the Horcrux isn't there. The locket is lost—a traitor to Voldemort and an ally of ours stole it. The inferi came for him." Terry tried not to remember what he knew had happened to the 'poor young man' (as the Ministry Coroner had said) after Bellatrix had found him. To barely escape the inferi to run into that harpy was terrible bad luck. Dumbledore had nodded sadly and expressed his regrets before they continued their conversation.

Terry walked slowly through the school as he recounted the rest of the new information. He looked up about a quarter of an hour later to find himself in front of the Slytherin common room. "I wonder if it still looks the same," Terry wondered, smiling slightly. He had been in that house as a student, even if he had not been the epitome of Slytherin-ness. A good number of his friends thought he made a better Ravenclaw with all of the studying he normally had done. That said, they never noticed that what he usually did while "studying" was read Muggle novels and textbooks. It wasn't cunning, exactly, but he figured that it was close enough to have kept him in the historically "Dark" house.

Terry shook his head, trying to bury those memories again. He could not dwell on them; he was not that man anymore. He hadn't been for a long, long time. Unfortunately, a good number of people could probably still recognize him, but he wasn't taking any chances. Glamours made him look different enough that probably not even one of his relatives could recognize him with his current appearance. Hell, the headmaster had not even recognized him! Terry White could pass through the castle without being recognized by one of the most respected wizards of their time. Unless Dumbledore _had_ in fact recognized him and chosen not to comment. "Damn," Terry muttered. That was it. However, that may have meant that the disguise was good enough to cause Dumbledore to respect his wish for anonymity. Or his disguising skills were shit. Terry decided the truth was somewhere in the middle (but hopefully closer to the former than the latter.)

He was about to turn the next corner to the hall that would lead to outside the castle when he heard an argument between two people he would rather avoid. Just his luck that Artemesia was out, wasn't it? He decided to hang back and let the two argue with each other until they cursed themselves unconscious. Terry reflected that that could, in fact, take a very long time and that it would more likely be fatal than slightly harmless to not-quite fatal. Might as well just turn the corner, deescalate the situation, and make a run for it before they decided to curse him. Would they curse him, though? They'd probably start arguing again before even considering doing so. It would be in character, after all.

As Terry turned the corner, Severus Snape stormed past him, and Sirius Black made to do the same in the opposite direction. Black paused mid-storming-off after Snape turned the corner, almost seeming to be slightly regretful to have gotten in an argument with the other man yet again. Well, that was new. Terry had fully expected Black to continue on his way until the two had gone to the opposite ends of the school. Black then turned around and was surprised to see Terry standing there. Damage control time. "Uh, hello. I'm Terry White. I was just looking for the way out," he said hesitantly enough to be convincing. Hopefully Black wouldn't notice.

Black stared at him and replied, "The door's through that hall." Terry could tell the man was trying to figure out where he had seen Terry before. The illusion was subtle enough to keep people from associating him with the man he had been but close enough to his appearance that most would assume it was a normal cosmetic illusion instead of a disguise. "Have we met?" Black finally asked. Always sharp, that one. Only took slightly longer than the last time Terry had run into Black.

Terry pretended to be confused and denied, "No, I don't think so. You must be confusing me with someone else." He smiled apologetically and turned to leave. "It was nice meeting you," he called back as he hurried down the hall.

"Wait," Black said, rushing to catch up. Terry really just wished Black would go. Granted, that wish was not going to come true under any circumstance. "You're the American?"

Terry stopped. He had been speaking in his English accent. How in the names of all four of the Founders had Black made that giant leap? Of course, Terry then realized that he had given his name to the former prisoner. Who would have told Black who he was, though? A thought struck Terry, who then essayed, "You're the one that Dumbledore's had watching out for me, aren't you?" Not even waiting for Black's reply (a yes), he continued irritatedly, "Don't follow me. I don't need a babysitter, especially not you. If the Death Eaters got wind of what—"

Black then cut Terry off, saying in a similarly affronted tone, "I'm not guarding a man capable of taking care of himself, White, especially not one with your job. The Ministry is not exactly competent, and while I know your embassy takes care of its citizens, the Order of the Phoenix makes it a priority that you work to the best of your ability. We assumed you would rather your wife and children not get caught in the crossfire and assigned someone to make sure no Death Eater gets within a mile radius of them." Terry had to admit that Sirius could still make a legitimately argued point when he wanted to.

"I thank you, then, but I wonder why the esteemed headmaster did not think that my sister-in-law would be less obvious than an ex-convict," Terry shot back. Maybe it would have been better to not have said that. Black would definitely not make an effort to be civil now. Terry had always had that effect on him. He could still apologize. Maybe. On second thought, Terry was not quite sure he wanted to. Sirius started it.

Black, on the other hand, surprised Terry when he grinned and replied, "Well, I wondered the exact same thing. Not really subtle, is it? Might as well charm a neon sign to follow them." More seriously, Black continued, "I'm not being obvious, White; don't worry. I was a trained Auror, remember? The last thing I would do is be that neon sign. Hell, _I_ wouldn't want me to be guarding my family if I were in your position."

Terry was a little surprised at how mellow Black had become, but that may have just been that Terry had managed to disguise himself well enough to trick Black (and Snape, judging by the total brush-off). Otherwise, their conversation would have started off an argument and descended into a duel, much like Black's conversation with Snape could have. Terry decided that it would be polite to acknowledge that Black was trying to reassure him, so he nodded and said, "Thank you, then, but I need to go. It's important."

Black said goodbye, and Terry finally was able to escape. He was actually surprised he had been able to get away so quickly. When he arrived back at his apartment, Terry glanced at the mirror and wondered when his glamour had worn off, hoping it had been sometime between Apparating and the walk to the apartment rather than earlier. He preferred the glamours than how he actually looked. His black hair was streaked with grey because of … job-related stress when his betrayal had been discovered. He still wondered how he had escaped alive. No number of glamours or even transfigurations could get rid of his thousand-yard stare, even if they could change his eye color from the natural dull grey to warm brown or crystal blue. Terry felt like breaking down into hysterical laughter: even if the glamour had not been working, he had not been recognized. Sure, he had been innocuous back in school, but at least Snape or Black should have remembered what he looked like! They had gone to school at the same time, and he had regularly spoken to them (although the discussions were rarely friendly).

The irony could have been laughable, but it wasn't, not really. It was just painful.

* * *

It had been yet another day cleaning the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, although Remus really did have to agree with Sirius's assessment that the house, while certainly ancient, was incredibly dirty. He rather wished that his friend had stayed that day to help sort which of the random knickknacks and junk was to be saved and what was to be tossed. However, it was in everyone's best interests that Sirius avoided the house. Remus did not even want to consider what would make his friend want to avoid the building so much.

In any case, progress had been slow but steady. Kreacher had given up trying to keep them from cleaning a week prior, but no one had been able to convince him to help as of yet. Remus believed Hermione might eventually be able to get through to the elf, but he sure as hell was not going to talk to Kreacher. Currently, Harry and his friends were cleaning the room with the tapestry in it, and Remus was supervising. Fred and George had been caught by their mother earlier in the week sneaking around and perfecting all of their pranking items, so Molly had insisted that someone keep an eye on them. "Someone" being, of course, Remus. No amount of protesting would have kept Molly from laying down that law. Remus did not dare contradict her, either. Besides, it was actually quite enjoyable to listen to the Weasley twins discuss all of the Dark objects they ran into and the applications of certain spells in pranking materials.

At about midday, Remus heard someone come into the house. He was a little surprised, since no one was supposed to come until later at night for the next meeting. The Order member did not announce him- or herself, and Remus heard said person ascend the stairs. Curious, he left the children in the 'very competent' (their words) hands of the twins to go see who was there. The main second-floor hall was empty, but Remus heard a door unlock.

He traced the sound to the hall with the locked doors, one of which was open. Remus was not sure what to do, but it was probably best that he go find out who was in the room rather than possibly leave his best friend to wallow in his misery. Although Remus did wonder what posessed Sirius to wander into his brother's room.

The former prisoner was standing next to the dresser, staring at the photograph he was holding. Apparently he had noticed Remus, because he murmured, "It's been almost fifteen years, Remus, and despite everything, it still hurts. Why?" Sirius continued to stare at the picture, looking confused and angry and upset and self-loathing. Pained was the best word. He struggled with words for a moment before admitting, "I met the American." He looked as if to continue, but Sirius remained silent, setting down the photo and turning to Remus. "He looks… I almost…"

Remus strained to figure out what exactly Sirius meant. So, Sirius had seen the American, White. They had ostensibly talked, judging by how Sirius had implied that they had gotten past an initial reaction. White's appearance had unhinged Sirius in some manner and caused him to think about his brother. Remus considered waiting for Sirius to continue, but he thought better of that course of action and prompted, "What happened?" He was about to add, "Did you get in another fist fight?" but decided it would not be a welcome comment.

"Nothing," Sirius replied hollowly. He scoffed. "We had a civilized conversation in which we both agreed he could take care of himself and that Dumbledore's crazy to have put me on guard duty," he continued, looking to still be reeling. He started laughing nervously. "It's so funny, though. White's the same age. I know he's not Reggie, but… He's what he could have been. Reggie didn't deserve it. He didn't." His gaze steadfastly fixed on the floor, Sirius steadied himself against the wall. Remus could tell that Sirius was trying to keep from breaking down; Remus had seen it too many times. Caught in the past, Sirius whispered, "All that blood… There was so much blood…"

Remus did not know what to say. He could not let Sirius fall back into the abyss he had shut himself in a decade and a half earlier. James was the only one aside from Artemesia who could talk any sense into the man or talk him out of this line of thought. There was nothing that Remus could say. James had once told Remus how bad the crime scene had been, and by the end of the description, they had both looked a little green. What had happened was unbelievable, even more so because of who the Ministry ad accused of committing the crime. "Sirius, calm down," Remus suggested gently. It was the only thing he could think of. "This house isn't good for you. You shouldn't keep coming here, Padfoot, please. It's bad for you. _Please_."

Moments passed before Sirius looked up at his friend and smiled wanly. "I know, Moony," he answered. "I know." A pause. "Say, Remus," he murmured, glancing back at the photograph, "do you think he turned out all right in the end?" Sirius's gaze flicked back to his old friend.

Remus wondered what he should say. On one hand, saying anything but what Sirius wanted to hear was not all that wise, but on the other hand, lying could upset the man more. Remus considered how he really felt before replying, "Yes, I think he just might have."

* * *

_**Coming Soon**: Sirius and Remus have an argument, and it's time to board the Hogwarts Express._


	9. Shock to the System

_His father was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, looking for all the world to be completely oblivious to what was occurring in the rest of the house. The teenager thought it was silly to hide from reality like that, although he had no right to talk, reading a Dumas novel in an attempt to ignore the terrible argument his mother and brother were in the middle of. It did not sound like the fight had become physical as of yet, but he would hear a slap soon enough. His brother would quiet after that, but his mother would continue shouting. His father tried to ignore it. The teenager tried to ignore it._

_This time there was a sickening crack then little. The teenager ran up the stairs to find his brother sitting on the floor, his right leg bent in an unnatural direction. "An accident," he said, grimacing. The teenager was not falling for that. He wondered why his brother was submissive when it came to this but would rail against everything else. His brother was not short of bravery, and he wondered why the older boy took it. The stubborn fool didn't take anything else._

_"You 'fell down the stairs?'" the teenager asked skeptically. "Will you lie about this, too?" He did not understand it. Why did his brother keep getting into trouble if he knew this was at the end of it? He continued to observe, confused and wondering if his mother was planning on calling the hospital so the bone could be set._

_"It's my fault," his brother stated, staring penitently at the floor. "I deserved it." There was an ugly blue-black bruise starting to form near his right eye. "I did."_

_He really wished his brother would make up his mind. If he had see his brother like this again, he swore he would bring it up with his father in a very public area. There would then definitely be a discussion of some sort. Awkward, possibly. Career damaging, certainly. Of course, he would infinitely prefer that his mother and brother cease fighting. "You could always leave, you know," he finally said quietly._

_His brother stared at him and asked, "What did you think that argument was about?"_

_"I don't know," the teenager replied, biting his lip. His brother was about to say something, probably to calm him down, but the teenager cut him off and said, "I'll go get Dad." He ran down the stairs._

_They stopped mid-duel, finally recognizing each other. The Auror stared and, forgetting himself, lowered his wand. The Death Eater, likewise shocked, mirrored the action. "Oh, my God…" the Death Eater breathed, reflexively taking a step back._

_The Auror grimaced and looked off to the side. He sighed and, turning to leave, paused. After a tense moment, he murmured quietly, "I never saw you. Run away. Don't come back to the battle," before walking down the alley into the shadows._

_The Death Eater watched the Auror leave to rejoin the fray where they had started their fight. He exhaled the breath he did not realize he had been holding before Apparating away. Luckily, no one witnessed their exchange. If someone had, it would have meant both of their lives. There would be no time to explain and no good explanation. There never would._

_According to everyone else, they did not have one._

_There was a dark lake in a cavern. Poison in a bowl. Dead men walking. A dying man retching, oblivious to the dead and their fell intent, the poison he had taken running over the cavern floor. He tried to escape when he noticed the inferi, but he drowned nonetheless._

_The unexpected occurred: his friend saved him, dragged him from the water, calmed him as he coughed up the rancid liquid. They had almost gotten away—but she came. His friend left, and he did not blame him. He wondered vaguely how his friend had known where he was._

_She grinned maliciously, and he knew he was worse than dead.

* * *

_

Sirius Black awoke from the nightmares, still slightly shaking, and tried to ignore all of the memories that resurfaced, wishing he could quickly go back to sleep. He couldn't stop staring at the ceiling, trying to will the pain to go away and wondering why he dreamt from the wrong point of view. Most of all, however, he wondered where that last nightmare had come from. Chalking it up to his already overactive imagination, Sirius dismissed it all as a reaction to the run-in with the American and the earlier discussion with Remus about his brother.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It read four-thirty in the morning. Still much too early to be awake by any standards, especially because it seemed he was not going to be able to fall asleep again. Slowly sitting up, Sirius surveyed his surroundings and realized that he had crashed in his old bedroom for the night. He stifled a sigh and got out of bed. Sirius figured he might as well go downstairs and make coffee for whoever awoke next. He dressed quickly and acted mostly on autopilot as he went downstairs to the kitchen. There, he remembered the date: September 1, 1995. Sirius cursed. It was his first day of work this year, not something he was particularly excited for anymore. He had no idea how to deal with telling Harry. Sirius felt he could conduct himself in a professional manner; that was not the problem. It was more how Harry was going to react when he found out that Sirius was the new Defense teacher.

Sirius sat down after making himself some coffee and stared at the wall. It felt very therapeutic for some strange reason and almost made him forget his worries. Almost. He finished off two mugs of coffee before anyone else came into the kitchen. Sirius did not even look up to see who had entered the room. Luckily for Sirius, it was Remus, who just sat down at the table with some coffee himself. Neither of them said anything for a good ten minutes. "I'm fine," Sirius finally said, not able to stand the silence any longer.

Remus shot him a disbelieving glance. "No, Sirius. You are not," he stated evenly, obviously controlling his anger. Sirius realized what his friend was referring to and cursed mentally. "How long have you been casting silencing spells for when you sleep?" Remus demanded coldly.

"It's not usually this bad," Sirius murmured. To be honest, it was generally worse. Well, maybe the part where his brother was almost killed by inferi merited a break in that status quo, but Azkaban nightmares had been much worse. Memories, though, like from Halloween or that cold day in January when he and James had found… Those memories were what he tried to forget, especially in Azkaban. It was sad that his mind could not find anything worse to torture him with than what he had already experienced, wasn't it? However, he was telling Remus the truth, from a certain point of view.

"It's normally worse, then?" Remus demanded coldly, making it sound more like a statement of fact than an inquiry. Sirius had not counted on his friend recognizing the maneuver, but he should have realized. He always should have realized. "Dammit, Sirius, you can't just bottling up your emotions," Remus continued, frustrated. "I get it; you don't want to worry anyone, but you're coming apart at the seams. I just can't believe that you would hide something like this!"

Sirius glanced over at his friend and said, "Fine. You want to know what happened to me? I demanded back then that I be interrogated with Veritaserum. They wouldn't do it. I waived every right known to man, and they still refused. After a couple of months of Crouch and his cronies trying to get their precious confession out of me by any means necessary, I tried to—" Sirius struggled with saying what he had intended, despite how much he felt like maintaining his angry monologue. Finally, he settled on continuing, "Well, 'to sleep—perchance to dream … for what dreams may come.' The next eleven years are a cold, painful blur. Escaping didn't bring much relief. Sure, the dementors weren't there to make me remember, but I couldn't stop myself. Stupid, right? It's so bloody like me. Then, with that whole fiasco last year, I ended up worrying about Harry, too. Oh, and now I have the incredible problem of the lo—of Artemesia now being my coworker and probably hating me or completely ignoring me (or, even better, she's moved on). To top it all off, because all that's still not enough, the damn American is painfully like my idiot little brother who was stupid enough to try to back out of the damned Death Eaters and got himself killed by dear cousin Bella. Regulus is—was such a…" Sirius trailed off, angry with himself and not even sure what he had planned on saying. Why had he even opened his mouth?

Remus stared at him, less in shock but more in concern. "You tried to kill yourself?" he asked quietly. Sirius wondered why his friend looked so surprised. He should not have been. It was the kind of stupid thing that Sirius was known for, even if no one would have thought he would go through with it. Unless, of course, Remus was amazed that Sirius had quoted Shakespeare. That could be forgiven.

"Yes. It was painful as hell, but sharpened slate worked well enough," Sirius replied with a scoff. "I almost wish they had given me the Veritaserum back then," he continued more quietly. An irritatingly severe allergy to an active ingredient of the truth potion had prevented him from recieving a trial, because apparently the wizarding court system did not think as highly of one's word as the Muggle one. "That said, if they had, and I had been able to remain conscious long enough, I could have been out of Azkaban, but I'd have traded it for a different prison altogether, and a much worse one at that," Sirius concluded, glaring at the kitchen walls. The law said he would have been sent to his parents for house arrest. If Azkaban had been hell, Sirius sure didn't know what Grimmauld was.

Remus's shock and concern seemed to have faded to anger and betrayal, as Remus made clear as he growled, "Don't act so fucking flippant, Sirius. You tried to kill yourself, you selfish…" Words failed Remus at that point, but Sirius understood. This particular rant would last some time. Sirius knew he should not have brought it up, but he needed to tell someone, needed someone to have this reaction. Remus was now half-shouting at Sirius, "How could you? _How could you?_ Do you have any clue what that would have—what that would have done to the rest of us? Do you know how long it took for me to believe what everyone was saying? Do you? And what about Artemesia, Sirius? It took her _years_ to be convinced that you _might_ have been guilty. You idiot, Sirius, no one would ever have known the truth! For fuck's sake, you had always known, always maintained it was 'nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' than to 'take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.' For God's sake, what the hell were you thinking?"

Sirius looked at his friend and smiled sadly. They sat there in silence for a moment, before Sirius quickly apologized, "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I couldn't. I—it hurt so much. I just couldn't take it. Yes, I was weak, but… James and Lily were dead, and it was my fault, just like with Reggie in that alleyway." Sirius was looking past Remus, haunted by the memories.

He refocused onto his friend and continued in a semi-detached fashion, "It was just after they had left me alone. The human guards were making their rounds that day. I either thought I had more time, or deep down I knew I didn't want to die. They found me after I'd scratched my arms bloody with a loose piece of slate. I don't remember how much blood I had lost, but I remember a medwitch patched me up. She looked at me in disgust the whole time, kept glancing at my face then back to the gory mess I'd made of my arms. The guards beat me after she had left, shouting at me that I had 'no right to take the easy way out, you rich, bloody bastard! You've probably never known what it's like to suffer; you're not getting to escape that bloody easily, you murdering traitor!' And they were right. I was broken, and it took me years to piece myself back together. They never let me forget what I had tried to do."

Sirius took a deep breath before concluding, "I don't expect you to forgive me for it, Remus. I guess I just wanted you to know. It's not something I'm proud of, and I would much rather forget what I tried to do, but I'm no fool. I know you'll be angry with me for a long time past now. I just ask you to try to understand."

Remus stared at Sirius, with a look halfway between disgust and forgiveness. He shook his head. "I don't know why I put up with you, Black," Remus muttered, frustrated. "I really don't. One minute, you're acting like that nigh carefree kid from back in third-year with your obsession with the dust covering everything in this house, and the next, you're sitting here, trying to justify your own botched suicide attempt." Remus sighed and grinned before continuing, "However, I should have known you'd do something like this, especially with what had happened. Yes, I noticed, Sirius. James and Lily were watching you like a pair of hawks afterward. Of course you would make another attempt after they were murdered." Remus collected his thoughts and continued, "It still hurts that you'd do something so inherently selfish, Sirius. I suppose you felt deserted, and that's not wise in Azkaban, is it?" He stared purposefully at his friend. "Before I can forgive you, Sirius, swear to me you'll never try that again. I refuse to make peace otherwise. I've lost too many people to risk losing anyone else."

Sirius nodded distantly. "I swear I won't," he said, even if the words sounded hollow to him. Remus did not comment. "Thank you," Sirius almost whispered.

"You'd do the same for me," Remus replied, shrugging the thanks off. He lapsed into silence, and the two friends slowly finished off the rest of the coffee Sirius had made. Sirius felt terrible, not just because of the argument, but because this confrontation dredged up memories of what his mother had always called him, a weak coward. In a way, she was right. Sure, he could act brave, but faced with a real problem, he tried to find the quickest, most painless way out. Exhibit one, his first escape attempt from Azkaban. (Many people had escaped the dread prison before him; he was just the first to escape alive.) Exhibit two, his suggestion to do a fake-out and make Peter the Secret-Keeper. (Sirius had never really trusted himself, so he couldn't let James and Lily.) Exhibit three, the scene he had caused at his brother's funeral. (That was the first time his father had ever said a harsh word to him or laid a hand on him.)

"Do you think I should go on the train with the kids, or do you think I'd be best be off now?" Sirius asked out of the blue, hoping to get as far away from the former topic as possible.

Remus paused, mulling it over. "Well, it would bring up some questions," he replied honestly. "If you happen to sit in our old compartment, you're likely to run into Harry and his friends. I swear, there has to be some sort of charm on that space, but you might be better off on the train, taking the time to calm down. It would allow you to at least observe the students a bit. Although, if I remember correctly, you _still_ haven't told Harry." Remus paused before finishing, "Just do what you feel is right, Sirius. From the look of you, I'd say that you're going to either be taking that train or Flooing into Hogsmeade. I don't trust you Apparating today at all."

Sirius nodded and finally asked a question he had been afraid to even think, let alone consider voicing: "How did she react, two years ago?" It was a simple question, although those seven words meant and asked so much. He could only hope Remus could tell him.

"She was devastated, Sirius. She wouldn't consider it, any of it. Not that you were supposedly after Harry; not that you had escaped; not that she wanted to see you, if only to curse you to hell and back. From what I heard later, she had reacted rather adversely to the news that you were in custody and to be executed," Remus answered cautiously. He shook his head. "Artemesia was a nervous wreck that entire year. I don't know, but she may have been still clinging to the small hope that you were innocent despite what she said she believed."

"Neither of us were really ever all that good with living in denial," Sirius murmured in agreement. Remus seemed like he remembered something and was about to continue but thought better of it, which prompted Sirius to ask, "What is it?"

"Sirius, I just want to warn you, many things have changed with her," Remus replied slowly and deliberately. "She's not the same person you remember, just as you aren't the same as she remembers. You may be in for a shock, regardless, and I just wanted you to be aware that things have changed. However, to head off your eventual question: no, she never married, and no, she is not currently dating anyone to my knowledge."

Sirius took a breath and tried to smile convincingly. One last question: "Is she happy?"

The answer: "I think so."

The conclusion: "Good."

* * *

Gemma was excited to be at King's Cross for the return of the school year. She was particularly happy because her uncle Terry had come to see her cousins and her off. He was her favorite uncle, but he had a mischievous streak that her mother hated occasionally. Her mum always became strangely upset when he acted like that. Gemma found absolutely nothing wrong with the behavior, and when she asked Aunt Vesta why, she would always smile and say Gemma would understand when she was older. Here she was, though, older and still as clueless as she had always been. Gemma felt it may have been connected to the man in her mother's old photographs, the one man who was always smiling and looked like he did not have a care in the world. Her mum was in very few of the school photographs with him present. The one that she saw that stood out the most to Gemma was one that had obviously been taken when her mum was in seventh year. Her mum had been trying to look displeased that the young man was paying any attention to her, but Gemma could tell. She saw them kiss once, despite their bickering. The photos were hidden in a box under her mother's bed that her mother never opened. Gemma had absconded with that last photograph and hid it in her room.

Currently, Leo and Macha were practically bouncing off the walls in excitement, very happy to see their father for the first time in a couple of weeks. Terry was paying a lot of attention to his children and failed to notice Lucius Malfoy approach him. Gemma watched and listened on, very interested. Terry sent Leo and Macha over to their mother, who was talking to some witch or another with Diana a little ways off. He turned to Malfoy and said with a smile that might have been forced, "Why, Mr. Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you again." Gemma was pretty sure that her uncle despised the man, although Terry for all intents and purposes did not look it to the layman. Terry had a particular expression for talking to someone he could not stand. Gemma did not blame her uncle in the slightest. The younger ferret was not much better.

"White, correct?" Malfoy drawled disinterestedly. Gemma could not fathom the man. Why would you act like you were barely suffering another's presence if you initiated the conversation? It boggled the mind! "Your children are new to the school, correct? Just as you and your wife are new to the country?" Gemma really disliked Malfoy, had she mentioned that?

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you are correct," Terry replied with a mask of cordiality. "My children are attending Hogwarts this year. I am sure that they will love it. I personally hope that they are sorted into Slytherin, but in the end, it's up to them. I certainly won't disown them if they are put into Gryffindor," Terry continued, the last two sentences pointed. Gemma thought that it was dangerous for her uncle to be talking like that to Malfoy, who most people thought had been a Death Eater. Gemma may have hated the man, but she sure was afraid of him. "That said, I hope they have the opportunity to get to know young Draco. I think they would find that they have many things in common."

Gemma really wondered what in the world was going on at this point. Why was her uncle speaking like that, with the pointed sentences and subtle barbs and the allusion to other things she never believed her uncle capable of? Her uncle, of all the people she knew, was talking amiably to Lucius Malfoy! Granted, he obviously hated Malfoy, but what he was saying didn't line up! Her uncle should not have even been speaking to Malfoy! If the (alleged) Death Eater found out about her uncle being a half-blood… Gemma did not want to consider it. Pureblood prejudice was the reason why her uncle had taken her aunt's last name in the first place!

Malfoy smiled frostily with his ever-present sense of snootiness. "I am glad to hear it, White," he said slightly condescendingly. "I hope that you will enjoy your stay in England. I am sure that it is much more beautiful here than many parts of your country. Still, it is nice to see that the feelings and traditions of our society have prospered even in the Colonies."

Terry's return smile frightened Gemma simply because it looked so much like the one Malfoy had adopted. "Yes, I know," he replied in a similar tone. "Many people I know are so disgustingly _liberal_ with their views. It certainly is nice to be among friends once more." Gemma was stunned. What was her uncle saying? He was agreeing with that disgusting dogma that said that only purebloods were worth teaching like he believed it. He couldn't mean it. He just couldn't. Her uncle was not like that. No, he just wasn't.

"That is very nice to know, White," Malfoy replied conspiratorially. "I hope to see you soon." Malfoy turned and left, leaving Terry to keep his façade up until the man was far away. His expression disappeared once he turned away and was replaced with a disgusted look. He then noticed Gemma staring at him, but he managed a half-smile before walking over.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked softly, concerned. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You know I did not mean any of that, right?" he continued frankly, with a hope she would believe him and not hate him. "I can't make any enemies, Gemma."

Gemma stared at him, unsure of what to believe. On one hand, her uncle had never spoken like that before. Maybe once or twice he had accidentally said "mudblood," but that was no reason to condemn him. He also seemed to vehemently dislike Malfoy for one reason or another. On the other hand, what he had just said was reprehensible. Those were ideals that Gemma inherently rebelled against. It was wrong, all wrong. All she could do was dumbly nod in response to her uncle's questions. She really wanted to believe him.

"I know you don't know what to think, but, Gemma, please believe me when I say I would rather hand myself over to the Dementors of Azkaban than willingly support what Malfoy and his ilk are planning," Terry swore patiently, hoping their conversation was not being overheard and that no other had heard his conversation with Malfoy. "I ran away for a reason."

Gemma blinked. She had not expected that last sentence. Her uncle had run from the British wizarding world? That meant that her uncle was from Britain. Did that mean he went to Hogwarts, too? That she could find a boy in the class of 1978 or '80 with the name of Antares? "What house were you in?" Gemma demanded suddenly. Yes, that would let her know the truth.

Terry recoiled a bit and grimaced before sighing. He stared intently at his niece. "Gemma, you need to promise me that you won't repeat this to anyone, all right?" he started. She nodded fervently. There was no way he would wheedle his way out of this. Terry nodded and said slowly and deliberately, "Gemma, one's house can mean nothing about who they are save that they are more likely to analyze a problem than rush off on some half-brained scheme or figure out a puzzle quickly and apply it than helping others who haven't after solving the puzzle. That's what the system was meant to do: allow those with particular strengths to develop them and to strengthen their weaknesses through friendly competition. Now, the system is obviously a little perverted from its original intentions."

Gemma raised an eyebrow. When would he get to the point? Terry smiled a little bit at her action and finally answered: "Slytherin." He chuckled softly, momentarily lost in a bittersweet memory. Noticing the shock on Gemma's face, he repeated, "Yes, I was in Slytherin. The only way to survive was to learn how to converse like I did with Malfoy. Your future depended on it: what alliances you could forge, the connections you could make before you were done with school. It was all part of the game, and you had to be on the right side." Quietly, he admitted to Gemma, "I did believe in Malfoy's ideology once, but I realized I was wrong once I got into the real world. There are shades of grey, Gemma. There may be a dichotomy sometimes, but even a storybook can be ambiguous. It just took me a little longer to come to the right conclusion than it took people like your mother and your aunts." As an afterthought, he added, "And, I suppose, your father."

"My father?" Gemma asked, her gaze snapping back to her uncle. What had he just said? "Mum told you who my father is?" she demanded quickly. Her mother never said anything at all about him. Never. Gemma had asked, of course, but her mother had never answered to a degree that satisfied her. Her mother would always change the subject or make an excuse.

Looking tired all of a sudden, Terry seemed to realize he had said the wrong thing. "Well, no, Gemma. I just have an idea or two," he replied delicately. "Your mother never mentions it; I never dare ask. Your mother won't talk to your aunt much, either. I'm sorry."

Gemma remembered the photos under her mother's bed. Maybe… But, no. There had to be a reason she hid them. The young man in the photographs did not seem the type to have run off and deserted Gemma's mother. Something must have happened. Other possibilities were just as plausible. Of course! Something _had_ happened to him, the one in the photos, and her mother probably had just wanted to forget, and… Gemma realized she did not want to think about that. "Mum wanted me, didn't she?" Gemma asked very quietly, afraid of the answer.

Terry winced at the question but quickly reassured her, "Of course your mum wanted you. How could you ever think otherwise?" The expression now gracing his face was one of guilt. Gemma did not understand why her uncle would feel guilty about something he had nothing to do with. It was not his fault that her mother never talked about her father in any way, shape, or form.

Finally, Gemma decided to reply with the truth: "There were these photographs Mum has from when she was younger. Some of them had this one boy in them. He really seemed to get on Mum's nerves, but I thought, you know, that maybe Mum had fallen in love with him, but he had been killed in the war, since he was an Auror. Then Mum maybe was all distraught and looking for company, and…" Gemma trailed off, knowing her uncle would probably understand what she was getting at.

"Artemesia always wanted you, Gemma. She always has, and she always will," Terry swore, hugging his niece. "Never doubt that. She loves you and would not trade you for anything in the entire universe. Not for a ghost, not for her own life, not even for the three Deathly Hallows. She'd give up everything for you and more."

"So he is dead," Gemma stated, inordinately depressed that she would never meet that man who made her mother laugh.

Terry seemed to be staring off into the distance. "Death is a funny thing, Gemma," he murmured, "but not all death is the cessation of life." He shook his head and adopted a proper smile for the first time since Malfoy had come over to talk to him. "We should get back to your aunt," he reminded her. "She's probably worried that we've fallen off of the face of the earth."

Gemma mimicked her uncle's smile and nodded, deciding she was better off just acting along and discussing it all with Luna later. They walked back to the group. Everyone was saying goodbye to all of the children. Gemma felt rather upset as she watched the others say goodbye to their brothers and sisters and parents. All she really had around were cousins. No father, no sibling, and her mother was close but working. Sure, she would see her mother soon enough, but it was not the same not having her mother send her off. Gemma felt left out, but she always felt like a bit of an outsider.

The sight of the Weasleys coming through the barrier drew her attention. Of course, Harry Potter was with them, as usual. Who she did not expect were Professor Lupin and Mr. Black. Granted, Gemma knew she should have realized that Mr. Black would be taking care of Harry because he was Harry's godfather, but it was still somewhat surprising. She wondered if Mr. Black remembered her. Gemma realized how silly that question was once she remembered that he had recognized her this summer after not seeing her after almost two years.

Something her aunts said snapped her back to what her family was up to. Apparently everyone was saying goodbye to each other. Gemma got the farewells over with quickly before scampering onto the train. She found the compartment where Luna was residing rather quickly (it was the final one). Looking out the window, Gemma was slightly confused as she saw her uncle and Mr. Black doing double-takes when they noticed each other. After a second or two, though, they seemed to come to some sort of agreement and ignored one another.

"Don't mind them, Alphecca. It's just typical of a Slytherin," Luna mentioned, reading the Quibbler upside-down. Gemma felt like commenting on the strange position of the periodical, but felt that it was probably wiser to stay silent on the matter. Luna glanced out the window at the group with Harry Potter and continued, "The Gryffindor is in denial."

Gemma furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "Luna, how did you know that Uncle Terry was in Slytherin? I just found out myself." She shook her head. "Doesn't it figure, though?"

Luna smiled enigmatically and shrugged. "One cannot presume to understand why one would fight two of the four horsemen," she finally decided. "Although, he does seem to be one that would. The bitter lion does not take kindly to threats, but I know not why your uncle would avoid an alliance with those who serve the resurrection bird."

Gemma nodded absentmindedly, watching as the adults slowly left the train station and the children boarded the train.

* * *

Luna realized now that Gemma admired the Dog Star. She should have guessed earlier, but it was all too obvious now. Granted, she thought the Dog Star to be interesting as well, but there was a difference in the two opinions. Gemma was obviously dealing with abandonment issues. Since Black was the only adult male with whom Gemma spoke aside from her uncle (who was absentee like her father), it was only natural that Gemma start to associate him with a father figure. At that moment, Luna very much despised Gemma's father for running to what he had, and thusaway from Gemma's mother. She also hated Black in that short span of time for taking the man's place. Luna would not see Gemma hurt; it would be best for her not to get too attached to Black. He had an appointment with the Veil. Glancing at the platform, Luna hoped she were wrong again.

* * *

_**Coming Soon**: Hogwarts and the Golden Trio returns!_


	10. Up Around The Bend

Ron was confused. Many would say that this was Ron's standard state of mind, but that was not so. He became confused due to certain circumstances, but Ron otherwise normally had a firm grip on reality. Unfortunately, the list of said certain circumstances was incredibly long and generally caused Ron to be confused for a good portion of his waking hours. That fact, however, did not indicate that confusion was his default mode. He had a very good reason to be confused on this day and at this time.

He had escaped from the Prefect's compartment to have a chat with Harry, who was sitting in the train's last compartment, as usual. Not as usual, however, in addition to Ginny and Neville were two girls who were at most Ginny's age holding an intense discussion about psychology, a man named Jung, and another man named Freud. They were throwing around strange words like "Oedipus" and "id" and "anima." The girl with the dark hair seemed to be denying that she had something called an "Electra complex" and "abandonment issues" stemming from "the lack of a male role model" that was causing her to perceive an unnamed man, who possibly had some sort of condition called "post traumatic-stress disorder," as a "father figure." All in all, Ron decided that he had a right to be confused.

He sat down next to Harry and Neville. "Do either of you have a blooming idea of what they're talking about?" Ron asked his classmates earnestly. Another thought then struck him, and Ron added, "And what's an 'oedipus'? Is it similar to an octopus?"

Harry paused for a moment, seemingly stunned (Ron was confused as to why Harry would find the questions that strange). "Well," Harry began. "You see, in Greek mythology, there was this prince who was supposed to kill his father due to a prophecy, right?"

The strange, dreamy-looking girl in the other far corner of the compartment interrupted, "You're telling it incorrectly. Oedipus was a king who killed his father and married his mother because of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The Oedipal complex refers to a Freudian idea about the psychological development of young men, who all inherently want to marry their mothers. Granted, most psychology has drifted away from Freud, but he did ask the right questions."

Ginny scooted closer to the door. Ron did not blame his sister in the slightest. Apparently, he still looked confused and shocked, because the girl with the dark hair translated, "We're talking about psychology because Luna thinks I'm too attached to—" She paused, seemed unwilling to continue for a moment but continued resolutely, "—this guy I seem to run into every so often. He's really nice, but Luna thinks it's all unwise and _won't explain_."

The slightly disconnected girl with the very light blond hair (whom Ron supposed was Luna) sighed exasperatedly and declared, "Well, Alphecca, if you insist on being this way, I shall return to my reading." And with that, she picked up the magazine from her lap and proceeded to read it upside down. Ron turned his head to read the cover. It was the _Quibbler_.

"You do realize that the magazine is upside-down, right?" Ron asked Luna.

Luna looked up from her reading, staring at Ron like he was possibly the least observant man in the universe. "Of course it's upside-down. It's much more interesting that way," she replied in a matter-of-fact manner. She shook her head. "Next you'll be telling me that the Veil-Between-This-Realm-and-the-Next is actually a rip in the time-space continuum that leads to all sorts of alternate realities predicted by string theory and every science fiction novel to exist." She looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, "Or that witches and wizards have finally learned that just saying things is so much easier than creating hyphenated pseudonyms. The former is sadly more likely."

Ron twitched and turned to his best friend. "Harry, she's scaring me," he said. Ron was also tactless and the opposite of subtle. Chess he could manage. Relationships he could not. Ron then noticed that the girl with the black hair (Alphecca? What kind of name was that?) was trying not to laugh. Apparently she had heard Ron. Glancing around at the rest of the occupants of the compartment, Ron realized that everyone had heard. Luna stared at him with an eerie intensity and resumed her reading once more.

Luna's friend called Alphecca (?) then grinned and introduced herself, "Hi. I'm Gemma White. It's nice to meet you finally, Ron. Harry mentioned you when he came in, and Ginny said you were her brother. Plus, it's kind of hard not to know who you are since you and Harry and Hermione essentially run around the school every year causing all sorts of chaos. I'm sorry if I'm being rude or rambling, but I'm not very good with this sort of thing." Blushing, Gemma shrugged.

"Er, nice to meet you," Ron said, now thoroughly confused. Wasn't her name Alphecca according to Luna? Now her name was Gemma? Wait… White? Wasn't that one of the American pureblood families? Why did she sound English, then? And look rather familiar? The answer to the last question came to him rather quickly: they went to the same school, so he just had never really noticed her before. To break the awkward silence that had developed, Ron then decided to ask, "So, what year are you in?"

Gemma turned her head to the side. "Third, why do you ask?" she replied.

Ron suddenly had a flashback to the boggart Professor Lupin had showed the class. "Oh, no reason. I was just wondering," he replied, continuing to remind himself as to why Hermione, Harry, and his third year was quite the adventure… and not an experience he would ever repeat.

Ginny was staring at Ron in disbelief as she said, "Ron, she's been sitting at the Gryffindor table about ten people down from you for the past two years, and you've never noticed her?" Intrigued, Luna looked up and was glancing between Ron and his sister.

Gemma looked a little flustered and protested, "No, it's fine, really. I'm just a third-year and practically nobody. You guys are … well, you." She looked to Luna for back-up and received no help in return, just the cover of the upside-down magazine. Gemma continued to look a little sheepish. "Well, what do you think Defense will be like this year?" she asked a tad shyly, desperately looking for a topic aside from herself to talk about.

Neville, who Ron had momentarily forgotten, had remained outside the conversation until then. "It seems like it'll be interesting. I liked the essay we had this year," he said honestly. "Maybe we'll get someone good, like Professor Lupin."

"It is possible, although unlikely, that we shall receive another Defense teacher like Professor Lupin," Luna mentioned from behind her magazine. "However, of his group, I think maybe. They tended to run in the same circles." She paused for a moment, seemingly pensive, before exclaiming, "Oh! That's what it meant! Poor teachers. Much homework for us."

Ron stared at Luna with a confused look. This conversation was one of those times that Ron felt he had a right to be confused. After all, Luna was confusing: an enigma wrapped in a puzzle garnished in a riddle and covered with mystery. Essentially, he found that she made little sense. So, the only logical thing to do would be to ask Harry: "What do you think about the DADA teacher?"

Harry shrugged and said, "I was kind of annoyed about the amount of homework that we've received already, but I suppose that we might be getting a good teacher this year." Glancing out the window, he continued, "Sirius was saying that the work we've been getting is good for preparing for the OWLs or something. I can't remember. He's been a little off all summer."

This, Ron understood. After spending a couple days at Grimmauld Place, he could hardly blame his friend's godfather for avoiding the house as much as possible. The former prisoner, however, did seem 'a little off,' as Harry put it. Ron recognized that Sirius had been trying to keep Harry and the rest of them from noticing that he wasn't doing so well. The tactics that Sirius used Ron recognized as similar to those his parents used when trying to hide certain unpleasant realities from the children. "The essay was long for being about one spell," Ron agreed.

"We had to write on various types of people and sentient beings considered Dark by the vast majority of the wizarding populace," Luna mentioned helpfully from behind her magazine. She lowered the periodical and stared at Harry. After a moment of tense silence where Harry was a little freaked out by the girl's behavior, she continued, "I did vampires." Luna then acquired an amused look on her face, as if she had just thought her comment to be rather witty.

Ron chose not to think about it. He probably was better off—Too late. Ron tried to dispel the images from his mind. Harry had caught onto what Ron was trying not to think about and was trying not to laugh. "Sorry, Ron, but you totally walked into that," Harry said amusedly. "It's what you get for making inane comments."

Ron chose to ignore his best friend for the moment. If he were to ignore Luna the Loon, Ron had the option of talking to Neville (who made sense, if not incredibly interesting conversation), his sister (the last resort), or Gemma, who remained something of an enigma. He swore he had seen her before, not in the halls really, but _somewhere_ not school. Maybe it was that she looked like someone that he knew. Actually, now that he thought about it, Ron realized she did look eerily like a particular adult that the Golden Trio (Ron really hated whomever bestowed that moniker upon the three) knew. One of the professors…? Oh, well. It didn't matter. "I did not make an inane comment, Harry. It's called being noncommittal. There's a huge difference there, mate," Ron defended himself. "Besides, knowing Dumbledore, can you even think of who we're going to have for a Defense teacher this year? I mean, we've not had a normal one yet. Just think about it. For all we know, Snape may finally be teaching the class."

"I doubt it," Gemma interjected quietly. All eyes turned to her, and she meekly explained, "Well, potions teachers are near impossible to find, kind of like Muggle physics teachers." Ron and Neville stared at Gemma in confusion, so she continued more nervously, "Plus, Mum's been freaking out about him, the professor for Defense, and she refers to Snape with different terms, from his first name to long strings of profanity."

Well, Ron reflected, that answered one of his questions. Her mother was one of the professors. None of the professors had the last name of White, though. Ron decided that maybe he would be best off not thinking about it. At least until he gained more information, that is. On the other hand, Harry looked very intrigued. "Your mum knows the Defense professor?" he asked. "Who is it? Please say he's not at all interested in killing me."

Gemma looked very uncomfortable with the spotlight, especially since it was Harry reenacting the Spanish Inquisition. "I—I—uh, well," she stammered. However, Luna swooped in and saved the day for her friend. She translated, "We have not heard who it is, just that the parental unit has a couple of bats in her belfry at the moment because of the new colleague. I think I like him." Luna, suddenly frustrated about something, then murmured, "Unless I already don't. In which case I don't like him." Gemma shot Luna an annoyed look, which the blond returned.

"Oh," Harry said, a little disheartened. He resumed looking out the window. Ron wondered if Harry was being so moody because of Sirius and not because of the Defense teacher. Unless, of course, Dumbledore had been crazy enough to hire… Ron halted that train of thought, trying to ignore the fact that the explanation would explain… all of… behavior. Ron's eyes went as wide as plates in realization. "Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

Everyone in the compartment was staring at Ron, who then sat back down, and muttered, "Sorry. I just realized I forgot to do some of my homework." He hoped no one would notice his lie.

* * *

Harry was very suspicious of Ron, ever since he had made that exclamation in the train car. Homework. Right. And a Ministry-appointed representative was teaching Defense. Loony Luna Lovegood had managed all on her own to slip into the carriage Harry was riding in. Her friend, Gemma, had stared at Luna like the latter was going slightly mad and scampered off to another transport. "You'll have to forgive Alphecca, Harry. She's a little skittish and slow to make friends," Luna interjected suddenly. "She finds much solace in the status quo, as long as it is just and not in need of changing. Oh, and don't worry about the creatures pulling the carriage. I can see them, too." Harry wondered how that was supposed to be reassuring. "You're just as sane as I am," Luna continued airily as she brought the Quibbler back up to read.

"That's nice," Harry said in way of acknowledging the fourth-year's presence. He had been wondering why he could see the strange equine animals with wings like bats that were wasted like Death's horse in that old block-print of the Four Horsemen. No one else seemed to, save Luna. Harry sometimes wondered about his sanity. He looked back at Luna to find her staring at him intensely. "What's the matter?" he asked, rather curious as to why she was looking at him with the gaze Trelawney usually reserved for him.

"There's something rotten in the state of Denmark," Luna replied grandly.

Hermione could only stare at the girl in the year below them. Her incredulity was rather amusing, now that Harry thought about it. When they had first entered the carriage, Hermione had gone from staring at Luna's unnaturally pale hair to her butterbeer cap necklace to the magazine. The strange, vague, and rather random answer that the girl had just given only reinforced Hermione's first impression. That said, it seemed that Hermione had decided that she should try to communicate since she then essayed the reply, "Fear no more the heat of the sun? Or is the year again star-crossed?"

Luna stared at Hermione, apparently amused. "Life is but a tale told by an idiot," she affirmed before laughing. Ron, who had been unlucky enough to get the seat next to the fourth-year was looking a bit nervous and was completely not reassured by the exchange between Hermione and Luna. "Signifies nothing," she added.

Harry somehow doubted that very much, or she had just been finishing her paraphrase. The rest of the carriage ride passed easily with Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussing what they did over the summer and Luna staring out the window or continuing to read the Quibbler upside down. Eventually, however, they arrived at Hogwarts.

Once they had sat down at the Gryffindor table, Harry felt that the only thing that could possibly make his day bad was if Snape was really the Defense professor. Luckily, however, Snape was in his typical seat. The Defense teacher's chair was empty, and Harry had to wonder where said person was. Professor Sinistra looked a little frantic, but Harry supposed that something was going wrong in her life again (he still wondered how they learned Astronomy in that class, what with her incessant monologues that should have been internal). The teacher sitting two seats down from her (whom he thought Hermione had identified one day as Professor Vector) looked a little nervous about something, but Harry decided that he did not want to know.

Turning back to his friends, Harry noticed that Ron looked particularly concerned as he watched the empty chair at the teacher's table. Harry was about to ask what was the matter when Hermione, a tad concerned, asked, "You don't think that Dumbledore had to hire that one woman from the Ministry, do you?" Harry and Ron, who had turned his attention away from the gap at the table, stared at their friend in confusion. Hermione elucidated, "The Ministry was going to appoint a Defense teacher if Dumbledore was unable to furnish the school with one. The woman they had been considering was this awful _espèce de je ne sais quoi_ who has been lobbying for all of these terrible bills, one of which has all of these provisions limiting the rights of witches and wizards considered 'dark creatures.' It's horrible. I hate to think how much it could limit Professor Lupin's future job opportunities."

Harry stared at his friend in disbelief. "So you're saying that this woman might be our Defense teacher? The person who assigned us the essay of doom?" he essayed.

Hermione looked a little torn. "I don't know," she replied uncertainly. "I thought the assignment was fair, and I don't want to believe that someone who could propose those things would be a decent teacher," she continued. "However, I think it might be someone else. Nothing has been mentioned in the paper, really, since the middle of the summer. If she did get hired, they did not report it in the _Daily Prophet_, although I gave up on a number of the sections after the fiftieth conspiracy theory article about how it's impossible that Sirius is innocent."

Ron nodded absentmindedly, and the Sorting began. Harry watched and listened as the new class was sorted into the four different houses. Two children on the tail end of the Sorting, however, caught his attention, simply because they looked familiar, a little like the third-year who had been on the train. He had thought the girl was interesting, but she easily faded into the background.

"White, Leo," McGonagall announced, and the eleven-year-old hesitantly walked up to the Sorting Hat. The boy had black hair, dark eyes, and an aristocratic look to him. Harry had the feeling that the younger boy was related to the girl on the train. He seemed nice enough, a little nervous, but nice. Harry decided that he'd best be off in Ravenclaw.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat exclaimed after a couple of moments. The usual clapping began, and Harry noted that the girl from the train (what was her name again?) was clapping enthusiastically. Well, Harry guessed that meant that she was related to the boy and was trying to prove that she was not going to think any less of him because he was now in Hufflepuff. Harry decided that was certainly nice of her. At least he wasn't in Slytherin.

"White, Macha," McGonagall continued. Harry could have sworn that she really wondered how some parents got away with naming their children things. Poor McGonagall had probably seen some of the stranger names ever bestowed upon children. Although, Leo had been a normal enough name. Why had his parents then decided upon a name as strange as "Macha" for his sister? The girl walked up with an air of laziness and sat down. The girl looked a lot like her brother but with pale blue eyes. However, she unpleasantly reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy. The girl was having a conversation with the Sorting Hat and was starting to look rather indignant. Harry decided that the less he knew, the better. He would definitely be staying away from this girl for the rest of his Hogwarts career, even if she had the guts to land herself in an argument with the Sorting Hat.

The Hat seemed to have made its choice and abruptly exclaimed, "SLYTHERIN!" The girl from the train, whose name Harry believed to have started with a "g", again clapped loudly like she had for the girl's brother. That was interesting: one of the family was in the house of the brave, one was in the junk drawer house (Hermione had jokingly referred to Hufflepuff once as "House Protista"), and one was in the house of the conniving snakes. How on Earth did that happen? All of the Weasleys were in Gryffindor, as had all of Harry's relatives as far as he knew. Then again, from what Harry, Hermione, and Ron could tell, Sirius seemed to be the black (or was it white?) sheep of the Black family. Still, the distribution was strange.

In his consideration of the bizarre distribution, Harry had failed to notice that the teacher's table now was not lacking any of the teachers. He neither saw Hermione look shocked nor Ron look like he had just figured out the ending of _The Empire Strikes Back_ again.

Dumbledore was making his traditional beginning of the year pre-dinner speech. Hermione managed to get herself under control again, and Ron started acting like he did from before, when he had shouted about his homework not being finished. The dinner conversation was not at all strained, although Dean had said, "I wonder who that is. Looks like we might have another decent Defense teacher." Harry barely spared the teacher's table a glance, and finding nothing out of the ordinary, returned to talking to Ron and Hermione, the latter of which looked a little amazed at Harry for not noticing anything amiss. Harry did notice that the girl from the train (he really would have to find out her name) looked a little gob-smacked.

After all of the students had finished eating, Dumbledore said, "If I could draw you away from this most excellent feast, I have a few announcements to make, most of which many of you have heard before. Firstly, the Forbidden Forest is, as always, forbidden. I hope that all students keep this in mind for this year, especially if they have managed to forget it in the past." A couple of pointed looks were sent the way of the Gryffindor table.

Dumbledore continued, "Furthermore, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind all students for the four hundred and seventy-second time that the use of magic is not allowed in the corridors in between classes. There is a complete list of restricted items attached to the door of Mr. Filch's office. On a related note, I am pleased to announce that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for this year is the former-Auror Sirius Black."

At that point, there was silence. Then, Harry had to restrain himself from exclaiming, "What?" as Fred and George gave a standing ovation, which was hastily joined by the rest of the Gryffindors, shortly followed by the rest of the houses applauding politely, with most of the Slytherins looking vaguely confused. Sirius looked a little embarrassed with the attention, and Snape looked halfway between amused at Sirius's disomfort and just disgusted in general. Harry sent a questioning look at his godfather, who simply continued to look sheepish. Annoyed that Sirius had neglected to inform Harry that he was teaching, Harry decided to ignore him for the rest of the night, which was probably counter-productive. Harry then realized why Ron had suddenly had been acting suspicious earlier and shot a questioning glare at his friend, who whispered just as Dumbledore was about to speak again, "I didn't know either. Something that was said on the train made me think that he might be the teacher. I swear to Merlin he said nothing about it the entire summer."

"Well, we should have guessed," Hermione murmured. "Whenever he was at the house, he just locked himself in the dining room and worked. I thought he was going over the state of his affairs or brushing up on the news or maybe even studying to reapply to be an Auror," Hermione explained. Harry and Ron stared at her in amazement. Of all the things she could think of, she had to come to the conclusion that one of the possibilities was studying, didn't she? "It's possible! What other conclusion was I supposed to draw? One of the books I saw is what is traditionally used for Auror training!"

Ron looked a little surprised and suddenly felt a great deal of pity for the seventh years. "A bit of overkill, that," he said. "Half the spells in those books are Dark. Purely for study, of course, but you don't generally go into spell analysis until an apprenticeship or university." Hermione and Harry looked at Ron, wondering how Ron knew this. "What? Bill had to go to university to learn how to set up and deconstruct wards for his job at Gringotts. Don't the Muggles have a university system, too? I mean, the training to be an Auror is four years. To climb higher, you have to get a specialized degree. No one quite knows how they recruit for the Department of Mysteries, though. Bill and Charlie said that there was a rumor that the last director had specialized in Defense, Transfiguration, and Potions but had been hired because he had flown with the R.A.F., or something like that. Apparently he'd not even participated in the war against Grindelwald, just went off and did something else for the entire duration."

Hermione stared at Ron and restrained herself from hitting her dear friend on the back of the head. "Ron, think about it. What else happened in the late nineteen-thirties, early nineteen-forties, that would include being a member of the R.A.F.?" she calmly asked.

Harry wisely decided to stay silent, and Ron said hesitantly, "What?"

"The Second World War."

"Ah. That. Right. That was stupid of me," Ron added placatingly. "Actually, that would explain some of the hiring techniques. Awareness of the Muggle world would be a great asset."

Harry wondered how many of the pureblood wizards were likewise unaware of the world wars as Hermione continued to explain to Ron exactly what the world wars were. He glanced over at Malfoy and decided that, whatever the real statistics were, there were too many. Of course, this got Harry to thinking about Sirius again, and he glanced up at his godfather, who was making strained "conversation" with Snape over the Astronomy teacher, who looked like she was rather close to taking her cutlery to both of the men.

"You know what, Ron? I'm going to go talk to Professor McGonagall and request that we change the password to Gryffindor tower to something historical. Really, Ron! You should know better! In some respects, I'm still amazed that Muggle Studies isn't a required course!"

Their bickering continued even as Ron and Hermione gathered the first-year Gryffindors to take them to the dormitories. Harry stayed behind to try to catch his godfather and talk to him. Ignoring how the Astronomy teacher was currently apologizing profusely for stabbing Snape with a dessert fork, Sirius had apparently noticed Harry waiting for him. Most of the students seemed to not really reconcile that Sirius was in fact Sirius and were not exactly parting like the Red Sea, as Harry would have expected. Actually, looking back, Harry was surprised how easily many of the students had accepted that Sirius Black, the former escaped prisoner of Azkaban, was now their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Now, if Harry could only convince them he wasn't the messiah…

Finally, Sirius was standing next to Harry. He looked about as repentant as Harry would have expected. Of course, Sirius then immediately launched into an apology: "Look, I really did mean to tell you, but… Well, the only time it ever came up in conversation…" Deciding that there was obviously no way he could explain his behavior, Sirius concluded sincerely, "Harry, I'm sorry. I have absolutely no excuse for how I've acted this summer. Please forgive me."

Harry had half a mind to say nothing for a minute or so, just to leave Sirius cooling his jets, but Harry decided that would be unfair. The only time that school ever really had come up in conversation, Harry had complained about homework for Defense. Now Sirius' reply made all the more sense. "Well, I suppose I should," Harry said, suddenly wondering why most of his conversations with his godfather were turning out to be him begging for Harry's forgiveness, "but I would appreciate it if you told me next time something like this happens. Really, Sirius. You could have said something when we went out to the cinema or to Diagon Alley. You could have even said something this morning!"

Sirius grimaced and replied, "I know. I almost spoke to you this morning, but this morning was not a good time, Harry." He just stood there in silence for a moment, obviously trying to figure out what to say. Harry decided not to push why Sirius had not explained that morning. The conversation he had heard between Sirius and Lupin had been rather strained, and Harry was more than willing to take Sirius's word on it. Finally, Sirius said, "Look, Harry, I meant to tell you; I honestly did. I'm terrible at confrontations, despite what you might think. I was afraid how you would react. It's silly, I know, but I've let you down enough this summer, and I didn't want to risk making you even more upset with me. You've a right to be angry with me, for everything. I should be working on trying to get custody; I should have called; I should have told you about the job. Honestly, if you are angry with me, I completely understand. You've every right to be." Sirius paused, thinking over what he had said. He nodded to himself and murmured, half to himself, "Yeah, that's all I wanted to say."

Harry was slightly surprised that Sirius was being so …serious. The short speech made Harry realize that, yes, his earlier theories had been correct: Sirius obviously really needed some time to put his life back together before he could consider dealing with the Ministry of Magic about custody, especially if Sirius was to be given a psychological exam. The suggestion Sirius had made when they had first thought that he was going to be free, that Harry could live with him, had been something that Harry had gradually realized would not happen overnight. His godfather certainly was capable of taking care of him, but now Harry felt that Sirius really needed some time to get his life back in order. Whatever had been eating away at him over the summer was much more complicated than preparing for a custody hearing. After all, Harry was not blind. All of those conversations that Lupin and Sirius had whenever they were sure that none of the children were around? Oh, they had all heard snippets of them, not really understood what was the matter, but they could still tell something was the matter. It had always seemed to be Order business, although the talk that Fred and George had overheard seemed to be much more personal (the twins would never say what they had overheard, just that it was not within their rights to repeat). There was something eating away at his godfather, and Harry decided that it would probably be best to just be as forgiving as possible this once. "It's fine, Sirius, really," he said with a smile. "It's actually excellent news, but I can't really call you by your first name while everyone else has to suffer through calling you 'Professor Black.'"

Sirius seemed to be incredibly grateful and to relax a bit, realizing that Harry was indeed forgiving him. He then seemed to realize that he would be called Professor Black by the students. "Dear God, I seem to have gone over to the Dark Side when I wasn't paying attention. 'Professor Black!' Prongs would be ashamed," he said, in better humor. He smiled and conspiratorially said, "I guess I'm not allowed to mock Moony anymore about his professorship, are I?"

Harry returned the grin. "Nope, I guess not," he replied. Harry noticed that Sirius actually seemed like a weight had been taken off of his shoulders. Had he really been that worried? "So, why did you assign us eighteen inches on a random spell?"

"It's good practice," Sirius replied unrepentantly as they walked to Gryffindor tower. "Besides, it's deplorable how little you and your friends know about defense. I know Remus tried to catch you all up, and he did a remarkable job, but you still know woefully less than what we did when we were your age. In addition, the essay was meant to function as a diagnostic. For instance, Hermione wrote on a little-known curse, right? Obviously she's not afraid to do research, but that particular curse is somewhat interesting, seeing as it affects people in different ways. Her essay shows she knows how to analyze spells, and if you carry it over into the real world, she understands that the method spells are used in determines how "Dark" they are. Half the spells in your text can be used for good or ill; it's just the manner in which they are used. To me, that's the point of the course; it teaches you to think for yourself and to reconsider what you hold to be true. Crouch taught the course well enough, didn't he? I don't particularly approve of how he did it, but your class does know and understand what the Unforgivables do and why they are called that. If even one of you think about what you're being taught, then I'll feel like I've done my job."

They had reached the Gryffindor tower. Harry was actually a little surprised by his godfather. Was he understanding him correctly? "So you're trying to make the Slytherins reconsider joining Voldemort?" Harry asked honestly.

Sirius smiled wanly and replied, "They deserve a chance, Harry. They all do, especially when all they've known is the dark… Remind me to tell you about my brother sometime." He continued before Harry could ask, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow. I'm sure your friends are all waiting to barrage you with questions. Thanks, Harry, for understanding. It means a lot. Goodnight. Sleep well."

Harry nodded and returned the sentiments. He watched his godfather walk back down the hallway for a moment before entering the common room. Of course, there was a whole slew of questions from every single one of his housemates, save, of course, Ron and Hermione, who knew Harry had had no idea whatsoever that Sirius was their teacher. Fred and George were currently throwing a party (food was courtesy of the house elves), knowing that another one of their role models was now their teacher, but Harry had a feeling that Sirius would act professionally in class at least. Why, he had no idea, but he had that feeling.

"You'd think that Filch had taken down the list of forbidden items and forsworn patrolling the halls this year, from the way the twins are acting," Hermione commented to Harry and Ron when they had settled in the corner of the common room.

Ron sent a disbelieving look Hermione's way and replied, "Hermione, you're one of my best friends and possibly the smartest witch of our age, but you can be rather dim sometimes. I know: pot, kettle, same color. However, Sirius is our Defense teacher. Sirius probably helped put most of those items on that list. He and Filch are probably not on good terms. Do you think that Sirius would actually put Fred and George in detention if he noticed them setting up pranks?"

Hermione glanced over at the twins once more. "Honestly?" she said with a skeptical look on her face. "Honestly, I wonder what possessed Professor Dumbledore to hire him in the first place. Don't get me wrong, but why would you bring one of the biggest troublemakers back to school? He may be incredibly well-qualified for the job and so much better than that Ministry woman, but _why_? Harry, you weren't there, but we found all of the letters that had been sent home because of Sirius. They were stuffed in a broom closet on the third floor of Grimmauld. I counted no less than one letter a week for a span of five years."

"That is impressive," Harry admitted, watching the festivities. "I think he'll be a good teacher, though. I mean, think about what it means that Dumbledore's willing to ignore the fact that Lupin, Sirius, and my dad used to wreak absolute havoc and hire Lupin and Sirius back."

"This year is going to be wicked!" Ron declared, munching on some of the food that Fred and George had absconded with from the kitchens (he'd made sure they weren't Canary Creams).

"You're right," Hermione acknowledged Harry's point. "And on the bright side, we don't have to worry about the Defense teacher trying to kill you," she mentioned. "You do realize, though, that this means Professor Snape's going to be in a permanent bad mood this year, don't you?"

"What, he can get worse?" Harry asked with a confused look on his face.

Hermione stared at her friends and finally conceded, "You have a point, Harry; you have a very good point."

* * *

_**Coming Soon**: Sirius and Artemesia cannot hold a conversation to save their lives, and Terry goes to a Death Eater meeting._


	11. Play With Fire

Artemesia Vector wondered once more how she always landed herself in these situations. Dinner the night before had been fine, that was for sure, if one ignored how those completely without tact threatened one another with cutlery. Breakfast had even been fine, as Sirius had been up to form again in his inability to make it to breakfast. Lunch, however, was turning out to be not fine. Auriga had deserted her, and Snape apparently decided to take lunch in the dungeons. That left two empty chairs between her and Sirius. Not good. Not bloody good at all.

On the bright side, Sirius seemed to be a little off-kilter, too. He was reminding her of how he had acted when he and Potter had been in a God-awful fight with each other their sixth year. Artemesia did not really appreciate the comparison. It was not like she had the plague or anything! He could at least acknowledge the fact that she existed! She glanced over at him again. He wasn't even eating anymore, just rearranging his food. Well, if he was going to be that way, she was certainly not going to be the first one to speak.

Artemesia resumed eating her lunch angrily, ignoring how she was eating her chips with a fork. Hm… They needed a little salt. She reached over to pick up the saltshaker, and her hand made contact with Sirius'. They made eye contact, and Sirius murmured a hasty apology and withdrew his hand as if scalded. He resumed staring at his lunch. Artemesia had enough peace of mind to keep herself from looking too perturbed, but she steadfastly resumed ignoring him. See? Vesta was wrong. They could both still behave normally, and no one—none of the students and certainly none of their coworkers—would be any the wiser.

Who was she kidding? They were behaving like awkward fifth-years again, except that this time they were being awkward around each other instead of the endless bickering and assorted declarations of loathing from when they had actually been that age. How was she going to survive the school year with him around? It was hard enough, dealing with Auriga acting like a complete and utter loon most of the time, but now Artemesia had joined the club. She wondered for a moment how utterly insane it would look if she just threw herself into Sirius' arms and exclaimed, "Take me; I'm yours!" Artemesia was actually a little frightened by how little she cared that she would look completely mad. Oh, no. This was exactly the reason that she had hated him back in school. He was such a… Oh, there weren't words for it! And she was not blushing because of him! No. That's what all of their female classmates used to do. Not her. Never her. He'd mock her, and she'd send some sarcastic comment right back. They had never been awkward. That had been Auriga's job. Auriga would sit there, embarrassed that her best friend was telling off the school heartthrob and saying in no uncertain terms that he was an insufferable pain. Why had she fallen head over heels for him after only a year out of school? She had never really liked him.

No, she still did not like him. She liked the _idea_ of him. Yes, that was it. She, Artemesia Vector, had only ever been in love with the idea of Sirius Black. He wasn't even really that much of a rebel when it came down to it. Oh, yes, he had the damn motorcycle and dressed the part, but he had been an Auror, for God's sake. Yes, he could be arrogant, but people expected him to be, so he acted that way. And he could be such an idiot sometimes! Most of the time, now that she thought about it. With him, it was always shoot first, ask questions later. He would never sit down and consider anything. Always got him in trouble…

Artemesia vaguely realized she was crying. Oh, God, she wasn't fooling anyone, except maybe herself, and she was doing a bang-up job at that. She tried to be subtle about wiping the tears out of her eyes, but it was too late. Was she always too late? "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. Bleary-eyed, she turned to look at him. He looked genuinely concerned, and she felt guilty for it. "'Si—Artemesia?" She realized that she had forgotten what color his eyes were (damn blue-grey) and half-forgotten the sound of his voice.

Finally, she found her voice. Smiling haphazardly, she assured him, "I'm fine, really." Her voice wasn't shaking, was it? She hoped it wasn't shaking. She could not—would not make a fool of herself in front of him. "I'm fine," she repeated, wishing that if she said it enough it would come true. It would not, but she could always hope. Maybe he'd believe her?

"Artemesia, you don't look fine," he commented and moved two place settings down to sit next to her. He seemed very hesitant to touch her, even if it was just to comfort her, and settled for watching her with concern. "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

Artemesia decided to stop it. She could not take his concern or his pity or sympathy. No. She could not get her hopes up. There was no way he could still love her. He was different; Azkaban changed him irreparably. She had to be strong. She said, "I am fine. Honestly. I'm just not feeling entirely well today." She made an attempt at smiling genuinely and added, "Don't worry, Sirius." She quickly excused herself from the table and left the hall before he could say anything more. Artemesia continued walking until she reached her office. She locked the door and calmly walked over to her desk. Once in her chair, she curled up and broke down sobbing.

* * *

Sirius did not know what to do. He had only mentioned that she looked upset, and Artemesia bolted. Damn, he knew he should have made an inane comment about the weather. At least that would have just made her indignant and not made her cry. Why did he always have to ruin everything? He contemplated rushing off after her and trying to talk to her. But then what? What could he possibly do? Actually, the only thing he could think of doing was getting down on his knees and begging for her forgiveness.

"You're in my seat," Sinistra declared, nudging his shoulder. "Move over." Sirius mutely obeyed, and Sinistra sat down next to him in her seat and stared at him. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You look like it's the end of the world, but it's a rather nice day today."

Sirius laughed shortly and shook his head. "Oh, it's so much better than that, trust me," he said, feeling rather bitter and glaring at his food. Why could he not have a normal conversation with Artemesia? Was he just incapable of talking to most everyone now? "Apparently, I now have the amazing ability of making our dear Professor Vector cry for absolutely no reason whatsoever," he explained.

"Erk. That sounds like an awful curse," Sinistra agreed. She started building a miniature solar system out of her rice and potatoes. She turned to Sirius and tried to explain: "You see, my friend, Arty is being what most people call paranoid. She is afraid of talking about certain things because she does not want to know the answers to those questions." Sinistra paused and looked at Sirius skeptically. "Please tell me you did not mention the weather," she demanded.

"No, I did not mention the weather," Sirius replied irritatedly. Ok, so he had almost gone on about the weather, but at least he knew what her reaction to it would be. "I know better than that. It's not to say that I didn't think about it, but she just started crying all of a sudden. I asked her if she was all right, and then she ran off," he reiterated.

Sinistra hit him with her spoon. "You are an idiot," she declared and started eating her work of art. About halfway to Jupiter, she deigned to stop and explain the ways of Woman to the man. "Firstly," she said, "in that case, you should have spoken up sooner, you dolt. Secondly, if she did seem like she was depressed in the first case, you should have mentioned the weather. Thirdly, why did you not go chase after her? Fourthly, why the hell were the two of you here alone? I thought Snape would have been here to strike up an argument with you."

"How should I know?" Sirius demanded. "It's not like I can keep tabs on everyone at all times. And I thought you said I shouldn't have mentioned the weather? Which is it, then?"

Sinistra stared at him like he was an uncomprehending first-year. "I thought you would have been smarter than that. How did you convince most of the girls in our year to go out with you?" she wondered. "In any case, I was not finished. Fifthly, you were doomed from the start. If you'd just been any other new Defense teacher, Arty would have just waved it all off or never even been upset in the first place." Apparently Sirius looked like he did not understand, and Sinistra summed up her argument: "It's because it was _you_ sitting there that she was upset."

Well, Sirius felt like an idiot for not even considering the fact that it was his presence that was upsetting Artemesia. "I'm a right fool, aren't I?" he muttered. Sinistra apparently caught what he said and nodded before resuming consumption of her food model of the solar system. "And I was naïve enough to think that the day was actually turning out rather well," Sirius said, rather annoyed with himself.

"Eh, don't worry," Sinistra reassured him between eating Jupiter and Saturn. "It's not like you're in any better shape about it. I mean, back in ye olden days, you'd have both just had a shouting match and ignored each other for a week. After that, everything would be all right again. Nowadays, you're both trying to figure out how to act around another again, and neither of you are really helping yourselves or each other to do so," she mentioned. "I've been monitoring Arty's behavior for the entire summer, and the biggest breakthrough I've seen is that she's now determined not to talk to you until you talk to her. Beforehand, she was just going to avoid you for the entire year."

"You've really put some thought into this, haven't you?" Sirius realized, a little disturbed that she had. "Auriga, you are by far one of the strangest people I've ever met."

Sinistra nodded conversationally. "I hear that frequently. It's just that I know you mean it as a complement," she replied. Suddenly looking a little pensive, she continued, "Look, Sirius, I know I've no right to ask this, and you're certainly welcome not to answer me, but I think I could better advise you on how to approach Arty if you give me a straight answer." Sirius did not protest, so Sinistra asked, "What kind of relationship do you want with her?"

Sirius paused and stared at Sinistra in surprise. To be honest, he was not sure. At the moment, all he wanted was for Artemesia to speak to him again and not bolt every time they were in the same room together. And the long-term goal? Well, that certainly depended on the success of the short-term, but he doubted that they would ever go back to being how they had been before. She would never forgive him for what he had done, and he was not sure he could even forgive himself for abandoning her. There was not really an answer to the question.

"I thought as much," Sinistra said, inferring what she would from his silence. "As far as I can tell, she feels the same way." Sinistra shook her head and grimaced. "The students will notice if you two get up to anything, and what I mean by that is if you two act out of the ordinary around each other, rumors will start. Trust me. I've been on the wrong end of the school rumor-mill enough for one lifetime." She paused and continued, "Especially from back in school. I still wonder who started that one up about me and Snape."

Sirius stared at her for a moment. "There was a rumor about you and Snape?" he asked, a little skeptical. "I'm not sure I want to know who, but _why_ would someone start that?"

Sinistra shrugged and replied, "That's what I'd like to know. Arty thinks it has some merit, though, which I find rather annoying. In any case, just try to talk to her about normal things, like how annoying which of the classes were on any given day. She'll be comfortable talking to you about that sort of thing, and maybe that'll lead to normal conversation." She stopped herself in sudden realization. "How is it that I ended up being the school psychologist? I'm not even all that level-headed myself, and yet here I am giving advice—romantic advice, no less—to the two of you. It's just plain crazy, you know," Sinistra declared, taking a sip from her drink.

"I appreciate the advice, nevertheless, Auriga," Sirius mentioned. He glanced at his watch. "Well, I need to get to class. Wouldn't want to be late."

Sinistra laughed at him. "Oh, don't pull that nonsense. You? Late for class? I thought that was the natural order of things," she commented good-naturedly. Grinning, she continued, "Oh, get going, Sirius. Wouldn't want to give the students a bad impression."

Grinning in return, Sirius asked, "Who, me?"

* * *

Terry White really hated his life right about then. Why in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost had he even considered coming back to his country of origin in order to fight a psychopathic megalomaniac bent on world domination and immortality without remembering that he hated every single one of his former colleagues with a fiery passion? Well, Snape was really okay, but that was mostly due to the fact that the potions master was really fighting for the other side. Actually, how in the world had no one noticed that Snape was one of the good guys? Granted, he certainly did not act or look the part, but there was definitely enough information to determine the man's true allegiance. Of course, the data also pointed to Terry's personal opinion about the forces of evil: they all weren't quite there…

For instance, here they were plotting a stupid evil scheme to break certain lunatics out of Azkaban. Really. How incredibly idiotic did you have to be? Break out of Azkaban? The only way that the scenario could get any more amusing was if they tried to call Black for some advice. It was sad, but Terry realized he did not put it past any of the people sitting at the table to suggest it (aside from Snape, who would just sneer at whomever spoke). Terry started drawing on his papers out of sheer boredom. No one seemed to notice.

Snape looked half-ready to fall asleep, but apparently he noticed the random doodles on Terry's copy of the "Grand Master Plan to Break People Out of Azkaban" (GMPBPOA—Top Secret, by Lord Voldemort with aid from Lucius Malfoy, Esq.). Terry just smiled as Snape stared at him like Terry had gone off the deep end. "Are you mad?" Snape hissed, trying not to draw attention to the fact that Terry had indeed lost all respect for the legions of darkness.

"Quite. You see, I've come to the realization that this is all just a figment of some poor sap's imagination, so it doesn't really matter if I snub these, to put it politely, nimrods, because that deluded idiot's probably beneficent and would just be delivering me from this torture were I struck down," Terry rationalized very calmly. He, of course, spoke in the same low tones that Snape had been because, while that could be true, he was not exactly thrilled with the prospect of dying an incredibly painful death at the hands of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. "Have you every realized that our formal title sounds like the name of a rock band?"

Snape, apparently, had realized that but only glared at Terry. At that point, Snape may have noticed that Terry had been drawing certain Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban falling off of cliffs. Snape tilted his head to the side just a little and murmured, "May I ask why Bellatrix Lestrange is impaled on a particularly pointy rock and half eaten by a shark?"

"She was attacked by three of the Aurors in the quadrant at this particular intersection that the plan fails to account for and was driven out the window because she'd rather die (or freeze in the water in her botched escape attempt) than be put back in her cell," Terry explained rationally, gesturing where needed to the particular Auror stations and points on the map. "Plus, sharks are supposed to eat anything, even automobile tires and license plates, so I would imagine that they would find Bellatrix to be quite palatable."

Unamused, Snape mentioned, "You do make a good point about the various holes in the plan, Grey, although it might be more productive if you said them so we could leave."

Terry felt that Snape had a point, although he was not sure he wanted to point out the mistakes. If he did and they fixed the plan, the Death Eaters could in all likelihood take Azkaban instead giving their ranks a get-out-of-jail-free card. It was also rather strange being addressed as 'Grey.' After a long time and quite a bit of scotch, Terry had decided to call himself Darien Grey. He almost regretted not running it past Vesta. Almost. However, it lent to the idea that Snape thought he was completely insane. Most of other the Death Eaters shared the same opinion, but Voldemort thought the name amusing. Terry had almost added that his middle name was Algernon and that they should call him Algie or Dulse, whichever they liked better.

It was at that point that Terry started to wonder if he were sober yet. Judging by the fact that he still found Voldemort's face to be completely hilarious, Terry stopped doodling and started paying attention to the battle plan again. "Excuse me, my Lord, but why are we bothering with Azkaban? If our allies were foolish enough to be arrested in the first place, then why are we taking the risk to free them? The Aurors may very well catch them again," Terry wondered, belatedly realizing he was a right _idiot_ for questioning the reasoning of Voldemort and braced himself for the Cruciatus. It did not come, and Snape looked like he felt a migraine coming on.

"The Unspeakable's got a point," Macnair agreed. "If we don't have a plan for what to do after the break out, then we're likely to be caught. Not that I'm against a good spot of violence."

"We need to free the Lestranges," Voldemort repeated icily for what seemed like the hundredth time. Even he seemed bored with the meeting. Terry did not blame him in the least. After all, if Terry had been stuck with incompetents like Lucius and Crabbe and Goyle, then he'd be on his last nerve, too. Terry wondered why he still had not been put under the Cruciatus for his insolence. After all, he had directly insulted Voldemort. Granted, Voldemort may still be watching to see on whose side Terry really seemed to be. That was not good.

"My Lord, what I meant was that we don't seem to be considering barely any of the Aurors stationed at the prison, and we've left too many hallways unguarded and unaccounted for," Terry explained, hoping that his earlier faux pas could be covered for.

Voldemort smiled wickedly, and Terry realized he was missing a big part of the plan. He did not remember reading anything about how they were going to distract the guards, and they were ignoring the existence of the Dementors. Terry paused and realized in horror that _that_ was how they were going to take the prison. The Dark Lord misinterpreted his attempt at stoicism. "Grey, you may be an Unspeakable, but you certainly are not a credit to your department. The Dementors will be more than willing to let some of their prisoners go with the promise of more," Voldemort reminded him sinisterly, staring straight into Terry's eyes. Terry's breath caught in his throat, and he remembered why he would rather have stayed far, far away from all of the death and destruction for another fifteen years. Thankfully, he had enough presence of mind to keep his Occlumency shields up whenever he was around any Death Eater, much less the Dark Lord.

"Of course, My Lord, I am a fool to think anything else. I apologize for my behavior," Terry muttered, looking down at the table. The discussion of the plan to take Azkaban continued much like it had before Terry had said a word to Snape. He stayed silent for the remainder of the meeting. As he was about to leave once Voldemort dismissed them en masse, the Dark Lord motioned for Terry to remain behind. He walked up to the Dark Lord and bowed on one knee. "What do you require of me, My Lord?" Terry asked subserviently.

"I was wondering, Grey, if you had ever attended a meeting before this one," Voldemort said almost nonchalantly. Terry tried to keep his breathing steady and strengthened his mental barriers. "You see, I remember only three others ever speak out as you have, and only one of them remains my loyal servant. The other two were a spy and one of the Order of the Phoenix. It would serve you well to retain control over your mouth and speak only when spoken to. If you have something meaningful to say, consider it greatly before opening your mouth."

"I am sorry, My Lord; I did not mean to remind you of Dorcas Meadowes," Terry apologized, only belatedly realizing that mentioning that particular woman was rather foolish, seeing as Voldemort just told him to be quiet. Mentally cursing, Terry decided that the only way to redeem himself would be to apologize and throw himself on Voldemort's mercy. Terry stuttered, "M-my Lord, I meant… I am at your service. I apologize for speaking out of turn repeatedly. I am willing to do whatever you wish; I am well aware I am walking on thin ice." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Terry realized how completely stupid his words had been.

"_Crucio_. Grey, you do not seem to understand the meaning of silence," Voldemort lectured as Terry writhed on the floor screaming. "Speak only when spoken to. Is that so hard to comprehend? I would have thought that the Ministry would rid its agents of such insolence early on," Voldemort continued, shaking his head in disappointment. He stood up from his chair and walked down from the dais to stand next to Terry, who was still shaking even though the curse had ended. "The only reason I do not kill you where you stand, or should I say lie, is that you are the only trusted Department of Mysteries agent to join the Death Eaters. I accept that you have some rather intriguing faults and that you cannot take the Mark, but I do not approve of your insolence. Do you understand, Grey?"

Terry nodded, knowing that speaking at that point would probably earn him another Cruciatus but that remaining silent could have the same effect. It was better to stay silent and show the Dark Lord he understood and would not repeat his mistake.

"Good. At least you can learn," Voldemort admitted. He stared disgustedly at Terry. "Get up," he ordered. Terry took some time to stand, and when he had, Voldemort ordered, "Leave me at once, and tell Lucius to hurt you some more. You had best bring some useful intelligence at the next time we meet. You will be sent a message by owl, as usual."

Bowing once more, Terry left the room as quickly as possible. The rest of the Death Eaters were waiting outside, all having heard the exchange between him and Voldemort. Terry made eye contact with Lucius Malfoy as the door closed behind him. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Terry demanded brazenly, knowing he would gain at least some respect for meeting the torture without fear. They might even leave him alone eventually. Then again, there was absolutely no way to feign Bellatrix's madness.

Malfoy stared at him without feeling and said almost lazily, "_Crucio_." Terry was vaguely aware of the others joining in. After each of their spells wore off, they stopped. Terry tried to pick himself up and leave, but he could not find the effort to. A number of them laughed at him before Disapperating. Finally, the only one left again was Snape.

"As I neglected to mention earlier, you are an idiot," Snape muttered as he helped Terry stand up. "If I did not know better, I'd say you'd take the prize for being one. Unfortunately, you're currently third, but that's still damned impressive."

"I'm honored, really I am. Second only to the brothers Black? Honestly, that's a … honor," Terry said, acutely aware of the fact that he was making less sense than usual. How he hated the Cruciatus. Almost worse than cough syrup, that one. Oh, Nyquil, you silly medicine.

Snape turned to stare at Terry, surprised by his comment. Terry knew by that point he really was not in control of what he was saying anymore and that he probably said the worst possible thing to Snape. Shaking his head, Snape said, "I have absolutely no clue how on earth you knew what I was talking about, and to be quite frank, I do not want to know. So, if you would please stay quiet, I'll make sure you get back to your flat without passing out in the middle of the streets of London and waking up in a Muggle infirmary."

"They're called hospitals, Sevvie; you know that. May I call you Sevvie?"

* * *

"Malfoy Confunded you, didn't he?" Severus continued, completely ignoring Grey's last line. "It's the only explanation," he decided and Apparated with Grey in tow. They were now currently at the plaza in front of the National Portrait Galleries. Grey was hanging off of him like he completely drunk. Severus, of course, had thought that when he had noticed the random drawing of Bellatrix impaled on a rock (surprisingly well rendered) on Grey's copy of the Azkaban Plan, as Severus had taken to shortening it. That plot was turning out had not helped in the least.

"I think I'm a little bit drunk," Grey decided, drawing out the 'I' in little. He looked around, rather confused, and realized, "Hey, aren't we in front of that one museum?"

Severus started to regret deciding to see the idiot Unspeakable home. Steeling himself to what was looking to be a complete waste of time that could be better put to use sleeping, Severus asked as patiently as humanly possible, "Where do you live?"

"Baker Street."

Severus did not even need to ask. He just knew the Unspeakable was speaking absolute nonsense. "No, that's where Sherlock Holmes lives, Grey. Where do you live?" he repeated.

Grey took a breath, considering. Then he shut his mouth and thought rather hard. At least to Severus it looked like Grey was using his total brain capacity in the process. Severus considered trying to undo the Confunding, but he figured that it would be best if the spell just wore off on its own. Malfoy tended to overdo that spell, so if Severus botched the removal of it, he would be held accountable for any and all side effects on the only legit Department of Mysteries agent they had ever bagged. Severus was starting to doubt the legitimacy of the man's assertion when faced with the overwhelming evidence that Grey was actually just insane.

"Downing?"

"Muggle Prime Minister and the rest of their government."

"I think I may be American."

"God forbid." Severus was pretty damn close to just dumping the man off at St. Mungo's and hoping for the best. If he had to suffer any more of the inane babble, he would desert Grey and be done with it. There was no excuse for the behavior, Confunding or not.

In the meantime, Grey had begun to sing a Muggle punk rock song out of key. He continued until he was cut off, "I miss my baby, and it feels so bad; I guess—"

"Please stop singing; I'm trying to think," Severus growled. Wonderful. Could the night get any worse? Well, Black could show up out of nowhere, and that American spy White could, and then they would have the whole name color spectrum. Severus stared at the wizard who had still not ceased singing even if he was a bit quieter and slightly less terrible and realized that Grey might be the American. The theory did not explain the accent, but nobody's perfect, are they? Fed up, Severus let go of Grey and sat down on the steps of the museum.

"Wait, I think I remember my address," Grey suddenly declared as he sat down next to Severus. "I'm definitely British, though. I thought about it. I suddenly remembered my mum yelling at me and my brother to shut up about something, and she was very British about it." Severus was as of yet unimpressed. "I remember living somewhere in Soho," Grey mentioned, and Severus turned to stare at Grey once more. Somewhere in Soho. That was very clear and specific. But when Grey mentioned a specific address, and Severus turned white. That… could not be where Grey lived. At all. An old friend, yes, but Grey was not that man.

Upon further reflection, it made all too much sense, but it was still impossible. Severus had been there during the interrogation, seen the body. He had been unable to bring himself to help dispose of the corpse, because, after it all, the man had been his friend, yet another friend who had not deserved to die in the manner he had. "Are you sure about that?" Severus asked hesitantly.

Grey blinked a couple times and then said, "N—no. No, that was someone else… Not me. Pity what happened to him, a real pity, or so they said." Severus decided that Malfoy had really done a job on Grey. If the man was confusing his identity with that of someone whom he seemed to have never met, there was some masterful spellwork done. "Wait! I remember now!" Grey said another address that seemed halfway normal.

Luckily, it was rather late at night, and no one really paid any attention to the fact that Severus and Grey were wearing robes, not even when they were on the Underground. Granted, the robes that Grey was wearing simply looked like a somewhat strange overcoat with normal (Muggle) clothes underneath. Severus just did not care about the looks people were giving him. After all, they were in a metropolitan area, and he could say they were coming from a costume party. Severus almost regretted taking the Underground, but he felt that it was better in terms of stealth. After all, they might may look a little strange to a Muggle or a wizard, but what kind of Death Eater would take the Underground?

Finally, Severus had returned Grey to his flat. It had taken an hour and a half, but Severus felt that for some strange reason he made the right decision in not Apparating. "Do you remember where you put your keys?" Severus asked, rather tired of leading Grey around. Grey, however, produced the keys immediately and with a flourish. "Finally," Severus said with relief. He could leave and be gone and not deal with the fool again until the next meeting.

Unfortunately, Grey took the opportunity to pass out. Severus felt like punching the wall. He took the keys from Grey and unlocked the door to the flat. Luckily, there was a futon in the middle of the room, so Severus dragged Grey over to it. Severus left Grey's keys on the table next to the futon and was about to Disapparate when Grey seemed to regain consciousness. The left sleeve on Grey's robe fell down as he made to hold his hand against his temple.

Severus realized why Grey was so adamant about not being Marked: he already was. Severus said nothing and waited for Grey to realize where he was and that Severus was indeed present. Grey suddenly looked completely shocked and was a little horrified to see Severus standing there. "Snape, I—where—how—" Words failed Grey, who stared down at the floor and finished lamely, "Thank you."

"You're lucky, Grey. I could have just left you there after Malfoy Confunded you."

Grey nodded knowingly. "I owe you," he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Severus started to reassess the intelligence level of the man as he asked, "What did I say?"

"That you were Sherlock Holmes, the Prime Minister, American, British, and a dead, former Death Eater, in that order. After a point, I decided to ignore you," Severus replied coolly.

"What point?" Grey asked, obviously wary of what Severus had determined.

"Well, you're obviously that American spy, but I'm not quite convinced you're my dead friend, even if it does appear that you were a Death Eater. Goodbye, Mr. White." Before the other man could formulate a reply, Severus left.

* * *

_**Notes**: Artemesia gets less weepy, I swear. Really. And, well, Terry's reasons for everything are complicated, but I wrote this part on painkillers when I was stuck in the school infirmary winter freshman year. I apologize if after the edit it's still too crack!fic. Anyways, thanks for reading and reviewing if you have, and please review!_

_**Coming Soon**: Auriga can't take it anymore and decides to take action._


	12. In The Closet

Auriga had tried; she really had. It had been okay the first day. Sirius and Arty had just needed a nudge in the right direction. The next day, Auriga realized they actually needed a push. By Friday, Auriga realized that nothing short of the apocalypse would get the two of them to talk to each other. So, she came up with a Plan. It was not one of her better ones, but it was time-honored and proven. After all, it was said that Rowena Ravenclaw herself had been subject to the Plan, although it seemed to have happened to her on accident and with the strangest men. Auriga and Snape had also fallen prey to said Plan, as much as Auriga loathed to admit it. That said, Auriga still felt like taking a blunt spoon or a herring to Severus sometimes, but that was just a kink that occasionally occurred with the Plan. With Sirius and Arty, there would be no doubt that they'd at least be talking by the end of it. Plus, as Auriga had mentioned to her friend when she had locked her and Snape in that damn broom closet, revenge was a dish best served cold.

The only problem was that Auriga had absolutely no clue how to get the two of them into the closet. Yes, the treatment was sure to work, but there was the problem of how to convince the two that there was something wrong with the closet.

Unfortunately, there was only one solution: ask Severus.

Hence why Auriga was standing in front of Snape's office at exactly 11:34 in the morning, glaring at the door. She could still not quite bring herself to knock. It would imply a sort of surrender. Snape would never let her live it down, especially if her Plan backfired. Then again, she could always blame Snape for the utter failure of said Plan and excuse herself from the blame. Oh, and if Sirius ever found out that Snape was a part of the Plan… Auriga realized that she could sell tickets to that. She certainly could. Maybe two sickles a person. That sounded about right. Auriga finally decided that it was now or never and was about to knock on the door when she was addressed by a particularly snide voice: "What, pray tell, are you doing in front of my office door?"

Auriga turned around and replied defensively, "I was going to include you in a most excellent Plan, but seeing as you're going to be an arse about it, I'll just leave." Snape stared at her like she was insane (he did so frequently). Seeing as he was completely willing to just let her walk away in a huff, Auriga then continued, "Well, I guess you don't want to be able to ever have a decent time at meals ever again."

Snape continued to stare at her but then glared at the ceiling before admitting he was interested. "What exactly do you have in mind, aside from committing premeditated murder?" he demanded as he unlocked the door to his office and invited her in.

"Well," Auriga started as she sat in the chair opposite of Snape. "Here's the deal: Arty is driving me insane. I'm the one that has to sit next to Black—" She still called Sirius by his last name in conversation with Snape; everyone did. It minimized casualties. "—but you know that if I'm ever going to stop stabbing coworkers, i.e. you, with cutlery, they need to stop acting crazy."

"I still fail to see why you need me in this plan of yours that already sounds mad," Snape mentioned rather boredly. He sneered, apparently realizing that Auriga may indeed be enacting her revenge for certain incidents he would rather not consider. "This does not in any way have to do with a particular closet, does it?"

Auriga opened her mouth to speak and thought better of it. Snape looked like he felt a migraine coming on (he seemed to get those a lot in Auriga's presence). "Well, _maybe_. But only a little! I just need some advice, Severus, honestly," she explained hurriedly, hoping that speed might increase the chances of Snape actually helping her. "It's guaranteed to be rather awkward for Black, if that's any consolation whatsoever."

"You want to lock them in the broom closet until they talk to one another."

"Essentially," Auriga admitted. She felt a little silly. The Plan was vastly immature and would probably backfire so badly that Auriga would have to start taking breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the Astronomy tower much like Sybil had taken to doing with the Divination classroom. Actually, if Arty and Sirius kept up their current behavior, Auriga would have to consider a more permanent course of action.

Snape stared at her incredulously. He obviously thought the Plan was mad, which is what he thought of most of her plans, but that was beside the point. He then shook his head and muttered, "I want to make one thing clear, Sinistra. The only reason I am even considering going along with this is because Vector was already insane enough as it is. Now she's worse, and that's Black's fault. Granted, if I am asked if I were part of your idiotic scheme, I'm denying all involvement. It will be completely on your head. If it works, however, I still had nothing to do with it. Even if Vector interrogates you, my name never comes up."

"Whatever you say, Severus," Auriga replied with a shrug.

With the stipulation out of the way, Snape asked, almost visibly dreading the reply, "What exactly do you need me to do?"

Auriga sighed and launched into her explanation of the Plan. Snape's facial expression went from bad to worse throughout the entire conversation. "And so, I'm not really sure how to get them into the same broom closet. I thought about locking them in a spare classroom, but then I realized that Black would probably know how to get out. Do you have any ideas?" Auriga asked hesitantly, knowing that Snape was about to go nuclear in his cold and snarky way.

"I'll take care of Vector, Sinistra. You deal with Black. If they aren't talking by dinner tonight, you let them out. As I said, I want nothing to do with it," Snape repeated.

Auriga glared at him. On the bright side, at least he was agreeing with her. "Wait, but what do I tell Black?" she asked, a little more confused then when she came in.

"Make something up, but make sure it's not too idiotic. He's teaching the seventh year NEWT students; they will notice if you're acting dim," Snape warned. Auriga decided to ignore him. After a couple more traded insults, she left the room and made her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and certain doom.

Auriga paused outside the door to said classroom, wondering when would be a good time to completely disrupt the class and kidnap the professor. The students would probably not mind that their teacher was soon to be gone for the rest of the day (although they did not know that the rest of the school would be much better off for it, especially since it would guarantee the sanity of the rest of the faculty were the Plan to work). After a couple moments of thought, Auriga decided to just listen to the lecture and wait for a good time to interject.

"…My purpose here is not to teach you what you need to know for some exam, although most of you may think differently, seeing as this is a NEWT class. Contrary to popular belief, I am here to teach you how to defend yourself or escape from situations where supposedly Dark spells are used or where supposedly Dark creatures are present. I say supposedly because in the end it is up to each and every one of you to decide what is right and wrong. The Ministry believes, of course, that a vast array of spells should not be cast by the average witch or wizard off the street. I personally agree with the majority of the spells they cite.

"However, there are spells that they haven't even heard of that are so much worse than even the most terrible they list. The Unforgivables may be just that, but all of you must know that a simple cutting curse can have just the same results as those three if applied correctly. That spell, by the way, that Pettigrew used? If I remember correctly, it was just a variation on a repelling spell concentrated at the concrete that actually did hit a gas pipe and caused an explosion. Another spell that would have sufficed and caused a similar amount of damage you can find in, I believe it was called, _Darkest Magic of the Twelfth Century_. They came up with some wacky things in that span of a hundred years. Honestly, though? Rowena Ravenclaw came up with some of the most awful curses of which I have ever heard and that I think are best left to the ages. There's a description in one of the chapters of _Hogwarts, A History_, I think. I'm not quite sure about that. It's been a while since I badgered Remus (that's Professor Lupin to all of you) about it. In any case, Ravenclaw was _very_ imaginative. I really feel bad for the wizard who had managed to piss her off that badly (I think it was Slytherin).

"The blurring of the lines between what most people consider good and evil is mostly the reason that I assigned the text that they used for Auror training back in my day. I know, it's ancient history, but that's a good book. Very informative.

Now, honestly, how many of you are going to be fighting in the war after you graduate? I don't care what side. They both treat you like scum if they catch you. Yes, Mr. Weasley, I meant something a little stronger, but I doubt the headmaster would approve of me swearing in front of students… About half of you? In my class, it was only a third. Granted, the rest joined some part of the war effort. What? Why am I calling it a war, Miss Rosier? Well, it is. I should also mention that I don't hold to calling Voldemort—for God's sake, don't twitch—by any of his idiotic pseudonyms, although Voldemort is a pseudonym in and of itself. I guess Tom Riddle didn't sound scary enough. That said, if you had a name that reminded people of a lame comic-book villain that wore green spandex, I suppose you would change your name, too.

"So, in this class, we call Voldemort by either his real name, his supposed name, or a deprecating shortening of either. A friend used to call him Tommy in honor of The Who's rock opera. She was possibly the most amusing woman I ever knew. Voldemort killed her personally. She probably didn't even shut up to let him AK her. That would have been like Dorcas. She was in my year, by the way. Gryffindor. I think only half of us are still alive. The Slytherins suffered similar casualties. Hufflepuffs tended to take support jobs, although a woman a couple years ahead of me was one of the best Aurors I've ever met, save, of course, Moody. I know you only met Crouch, but from what I've heard, he wasn't half as… Moody-like. To be honest, I think Moody went a little crazy in the last war, but, don't get me wrong, I have great respect for him. Oh, and of the Ravenclaws, well, most of them went on to university. Professor Vector, for instance, has a degree in ward-making. She had put what she was learning to good use.

"As I said, I am going to teach you how to defend yourselves. I don't care who you escape, just that you do. That said, under no circumstances will I be teaching you any Dark magic. I know enough to know that none of you want to know any. Just a side-note, the Cruciatus is actually a failed version of a more powerful curse that burns you alive from the inside out and then regenerates your internal organs. Apparently there have even been survivors of it. I wanted to tell you all of this up-front because each and every one of you deserves to live through this. Those of you who are up for joining the Death Eaters may grow to realize that you will be throwing your life away and that Voldemort is wrong. Those of you that are planning on fighting Voldemort need to know how to keep from being caught. Bellatrix Lestrange knows just as much Dark magic as I do, but the difference between us is that she uses it. The moment the body count starts to rise, and the newspapers report it, you'll learn to identify which group of Death Eaters was present for which attack. If it's too gruesome to report, that's Bella. She may be the worst, but there are many leading up to her who are almost as terrible. At least if you run into Voldemort, he'll just kill you. It may be painful, but it's almost guaranteed to be quick. So.

"Any questions?"

Auriga felt that this was a good time to interrupt the lecture. She vaguely wondered why she had thought that Sirius would be anything less than frank beforehand. That said, mentioning Dorcas Meadowes as a reason that the students should not be afraid to speak Voldemort's name was a little brazen, even for Sirius. Of course, if Auriga remembered Dorcas correctly, Dorcas would have very much approved of the mention of her rather bizarre habit. Then again, mentioning Lestrange and Pettigrew? Wait a moment. Lestrange was Sirius's cousin? Auriga knew Narcissa Malfoy was (she had only been two years ahead of them). Hm. You learn something new every day.

Auriga opened the door and snuck into the back of the classroom. One of the Weasley twins was asking a question: "So, is it true that most of the people that were put in Azkaban during the last war were not given trials, or is that just something that they made up in the papers recently?"

Sirius looked a little torn but replied, "It is essentially just another lie from the _Daily Prophet_. Most were given show trials, but we—the Aurors generally had overwhelming evidence against the defendants. The Lestranges, for instance, we knew had been Death Eaters since the beginning, but there was no way that we could ever touch them without catching either of them red-handed. It was money, mostly, but Rudolphus, as head of House Lestrange, held a seat in the wizards' House of Lords. Bellatrix always made sure she had some sort of alibi, and no one could ever pin a motive on her. Granted, Bellatrix never really needed or had a motive, but legally it's better to have one to give a defendant in trial. Reasonable doubt and all."

Miss Rosier, a Slytherin, asked, "Why do you not care what side we join?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Miss Rosier. I've been given third and forth chances. Not everyone is so lucky to get even one," Sirius replied. Auriga knew Sirius was evading the question. He would throw Bellatrix Lestrange back in Azkaban even if she hypothetically repented and became a nun. Oh, well. That was a puzzle for another day.

"Si—Er, Professor Black, I need to speak with you for a moment," Auriga broke in, feeling that Sirius might rather be stuck in a closet with Artemesia than answering potentially awkward questions from seventh years.

Sirius looked surprised to see Auriga and then immediately looked suspicious. Crap. Auriga had forgotten that Sirius had a rather accurate bullshit meter. "Right. That. We discussed this at lunch on Saturday, right?" he said, obviously feeling that Auriga better have something to say.

"Right. Uh, it's urgent. Very urgent," Auriga added for good measure. The seventh years were all staring at her like she was crazy. Granted, they were all of the opinion that she was batty and tended to chase after the Defense professors. Well, not this year, you little monsters! She was trying to play matchmaker and thus remain sane, so ha!

"Right," Sirius responded. He glanced back at the class. "Well, I better talk to Professor Sinistra. Um… Talk amongst yourselves. Or read the first chapter, if you haven't already. Hell, you know what, just don't blow up the classroom while I'm gone." Sirius then walked to the back of the classroom and said to Auriga in a low tone, "Now what the hell is going on?"

Auriga, of course, broke under interrogation and spilled the whole story once she had closed the classroom door behind them. Sirius, for his part, stood there and listened to her. "And so I thought that maybe it would just be best if you two had to talk to each other," she finished, leaving out the part where she had recruited Snape, because the potions teacher really took his threats seriously. Except for that one time he threatened to disembowel a student with a wooden spoon… Apparently the look on the student's face had been absolutely priceless. Then again, the threat was punishment enough.

Sirius stared at Auriga and sighed. "I have no clue why I'm going to go through with this," he murmured, looking defeated. Steeling himself, Sirius said, "Well, lead away."

"Oh, thank God," Auriga said and, grabbing his sleeve, directed him to the closet.

* * *

Sirius realized that saying yes to Auriga's crazy scheme was possibly one of the stupidest things he had ever done. That said, he really couldn't complain about the company—No, he had no right to think that, even if it were true. He did wish that Auriga had at least deigned to find a closet that wasn't so small. It was a little cramped. Yes, this had been a very bad idea. Very bad. He had thought that Auriga was exaggerating when she said closet. He thought she meant she had found the Room of Requirement by accident or a similar room that would have been actually conducive to a conversation instead of said very small closet.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to axe-murder Auriga when we get out of here," Artemesia grumbled. By this point in time, they were a comfortable distance away from each other, which had not been the case when Auriga had shoved Sirius into the closet. However, in this closet, a comfortable distance away meant they were not touching.

Sirius made a noncommittal noise. Yes, the plan was backfiring. He just hoped it backfired on Auriga and not him. "Any idea how to get out?" he asked, hoping Artemesia would not spontaneously start crying again until they extricated themselves from the cupboard.

Artemesia glared at him. "Does it look like I have any idea how to get out of here?" she demanded irritatedly. "I would have left an hour ago if I did! For God's sake, I don't even want to know what Auriga was thinking! I swear to God and everything holy that if this is some sort of twisted revenge on Auriga's part for what happened four years ago…"

Sirius stared at Artemesia. "You locked her in a cupboard with someone," he stated.

"That's not the point, Sirius," Artemesia replied in defense. She groaned frustratedly. "If only I had remembered to bring my wand with me. I'm abysmal at wandless magic," she lamented. Shaking her head, Artemesia continued, "I honestly should have known Auriga would try something like this. When did she get so good at planning?"

"Maybe when you were locking her in closets," Sirius reminded her. "Or it could have been the intervening decade or so between school and when you two started working here."

"Very funny, Sirius." She paused. "I'm still not talking to you," Artemesia reminded him.

"Then what the hell are we doing?" he demanded, becoming equally as frustrated as her.

"Arguing, obviously," Artemesia shot back. "It's what we did for all seven years of school. I should hope you remember that at least. Or were you too distracted by, say, anyone female and breathing? Or those stupid pranks you and Potter were always pulling?"

"You're criticizing me? Ha. That takes some guts. I remember that you were always too fucking busy with your damn homework to even give someone besides Auriga the time of day. And then you sometimes even forgot Auriga existed!" Sirius shot back.

"Better than whoring myself out like _some_ people!"

Sirius couldn't reply to that. Sure, he might have been a little loose with his morals back in the day, but—Actually, he wasn't quite sure why the comment hurt so much. Maybe because it was coming from her? "I guess I deserve that," he murmured. Well, might as well try to at least stay on speaking terms with her. "Shit, look, Artemesia, I'm sorry for everything. I know that doesn't cut it, but…" Sirius trailed off. Maybe he should have just stayed silent and let her think whatever she wanted of him.

"You've no right to just apologize and be done with it, dammit!" Artemesia shouted at him. Sirius flinched a bit. "You're not supposed to apologize. You're supposed to be the self-righteous pain in the ass you always were and just assume I'd forgive you!" It was obvious by that point that she was trying not to cry, and Sirius wished he had not listened to Auriga and taken the chance to be even more of an idiot. "You're not allowed to take my anger away, too! I want to hate you, Sirius, for all of it, but you just… Why can't I, dammit? Why did you have to come waltzing back into my life? It's not fair! It's not fucking fair!"

"You think I wanted to leave? Do you?" Sirius demanded. "God dammit, Artemesia! I fucked up; I know that. I wasn't thinking clearly, wasn't thinking at all, even." He looked off to the side, wishing he had a better control of his temper. He shouldn't be yelling at her. He should be telling her it was all his fault, begging for her forgiveness, and leaving, maybe even leaving once and for all and never bothering her again. It might be for the better, but it could be for the worse. Oh, God, but he didn't want to leave her. It may hurt to be near her, but he just couldn't leave.

"You never think about anything; you just react! It's not healthy! How could you leave me, Sirius? How? Was it really so bad that you had nothing left to live for?" Artemesia demanded anew, starting to sob. "You promised! You promised you wouldn't leave!"

"I'm sorry…" Oh, God, no. Not him, too. Sirius cursed himself. There was no way in hell that he was crying. Why couldn't he stop? He might as well beg for forgiveness. "Artemesia… Oh, God, 'Sia, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me," he murmured. It would be too much to touch her shoulder, wouldn't it? Right? Of course. He had no right to even be speaking to her, much less… "I'm so sorry," he repeated desolately.

All of a sudden, Artemesia latched on to him and started sobbing into his chest. Sirius had not expected for the apology to have that effect, but he really did not care and returned the embrace. He had missed her so much; he hadn't even realized. In between sobs, Artemesia choked out, "This doesn't mean I forgive you, Sirius."

"I know… I know."

They just stood there for a long time after, not speaking. It took quite a while for Artemesia to calm down, even if Sirius had only managed to take control of his emotions just before she did. He let her go when she made to move away. They stayed silent for a couple moments more. "I guess this means we can't go back to the way we were," he murmured.

"It sure seems like we have," Artemesia said. "All that's missing is talking civilly."

"We didn't fight that much, did we?" Sirius asked desperately. He needed to be reassured that he at least remembered correctly, that they had been happy once.

"Not like that," Artemesia admitted with a sniff. "Little arguments here and there about stupid things, like what kind of peanut butter to buy, but almost never like that." She sighed. "What are we going to do?" she wondered. "We can't go on like this. The students will notice, (God forbid) our colleagues will notice, and we just can't! We aren't friends; we can't be, but we can't avoid each other either. What do we do? I can't think right now."

"I don't know, 'Sia. I don't know," Sirius admitted, equally confused. There had already been too much emotional upheaval for him in one day. Thinking about the future was not what he was looking forward to, especially if he didn't want things to turn out that they just decided to make their peace and that was that.

"Please don't call me that, Sirius," Artemesia murmured. "We aren't twenty-one and watching life go by through rose-tinted glasses anymore."

"As you wish," he replied quietly. Sirius was really starting to hate how his life had turned out, Azkaban aside. Maybe he would have been better off if he hadn't been cleared. "Could we talk about this some other day?" he suddenly asked. "When we don't feel like we just lived through the end of the world?"

Artemesia nodded, completely willing to do so. She sniffed and then cracked a grin. "You know," she said, "I'm still going to kill Auriga for this."

"Eh, maybe you should go a little easy on her," Sirius suggested, grateful for the sudden change of subject and lightening of mood. He had missed light banter with her.

"No. I'm not letting her off the hook that easily. Not even you can convince me to give her a lighter sentence," Artemesia declared. "She locked us in here, remember? Well, she threw you in here. She recruited someone else to lock me in here." Pausing, Artemesia decided it would be better to head off the question and said, "And, no, I don't want you to go after him."

"_Snape?_ You locked Auriga in here with _Snape?_" Sirius realized, a little horrified. "That was certainly brave of you. How did you get them in here?"

"One could ask the same of us," Artemesia reminded him jokingly.

"True, but I assume that Auriga meant well by it," Sirius said.

Annoyed, Artemesia stared at Sirius and informed him, "When you've watched those two dance around each other for as long as I have, then you will know that that particular incident was well meant. It was to guarantee the sanity of the rest of the faculty."

"That certainly sounds familiar. Did _they_ ever incite _you_ to stab a coworker with a fork?"

"Shush. Don't try to talk me out of it. I need to be resolute."

"Whatever you say, love."

* * *

"I wonder if they've figured out that I unlocked the door hours ago?" Professor Sinistra suddenly wondered at dinner that night. Neither the Arithmancy professor nor the Defense professor had yet to make an appearance. Most of the professors decided they did not want to know.

"I'm going to pretend that you did not just say that," Professor Snape muttered.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood started cackling.

* * *

"Well, I feel like an idiot," Artemesia declared after she had accidentally opened the door to the closet while trying to throttle her rather infuriating coworker whom, like it or not, she was comfortable talking to again. However, Auriga had to be the most infuriating of her coworkers for coming up with this crackpot scheme in the first place. Why did Auriga have to use Artemesia's plan against her? Wouldn't it have been slightly more inventive to have trapped them somewhere else that was possibly more awkward? Like, say, the Chamber of Secrets?

"Hm," Sirius replied, obviously not caring about the position that they were currently in. "Didn't expect that." Artemesia realized at that point that she was lying on top of him and scrambled to stand up. Amused by her reaction, Sirius likewise stood up and stretched. "How long do you think we were in there?" he asked.

Blushing like crazy, Artemesia answered, "I dunno. Something like an hour or two?" Then again, by the amount of light outside the window, it seemed like much more than an hour or two had passed. Oh, if this meant that she had missed classes, Artemesia was going to strangle Auriga, good intentions or no. Axe-murdering was nowhere near a good enough punishment. She glanced over at Sirius, who had also noticed the lack of sunlight outside.

"I'm hungry," he decided. Considering something, he paused before continuing, "Do you want to go down to the kitchens and skip the inevitable questions that will arise if we attempt to go to dinner?" Realizing going to the kitchens would be just as suspicious and that he sounded suspiciously like he as asking her out (No, bad Artemesia! No reading into things!), Sirius quickly followed the statement with, "Of course, if you want to go, I'll just avoid the Great Hall. That would probably allow us to avoid more rumors than, you know, not showing up at all."

Artemesia's face drained of blood as she imagined the remarks that would inevitably result. "Imagine what the seventh-years will be saying," she said, in a state of shock. "They'll notice; you know they will. Oh, God. The Weasley twins will start a rumor to put all other rumors to shame!" She did not even want to consider what the other teachers would do. Artemesia knew that they were probably starting up a betting pool, courtesy of Auriga, in all likelihood, as revenge for the one for her and Snape. Unless, of course, Auriga was still in the dark about the betting pool considering her. Artemesia started praying that she was.

"Well, I imagine that we're not the only ones who are missing," Sirius pointed out. He then seemed to consider something and said, "Then again, the class I left has those two in it, but, honestly, what are the chances that they will connect Auriga dragging me out of class with you leaving earlier in the day with Snape?"

"A friend of theirs, Lee Jordan, is in the class I was teaching when I left," Artemesia informed him frankly. "Oh, it's probably all over the school now," she lamented before she got a hold of herself and declared, "You know what? We're adults. We shouldn't be so worried about this. Besides, it's not like we considered our teachers' love lives back when we were in school. At least, the normal people among us."

"Dorcas insisted the old Divination teacher had the hots for the Charms professor," Sirius reminded her. "And then there was the time James had a betting pool in our fifth year about the Defense teacher who always acted a little off around the Arith…" The horrified look that had been on Artemeisa's face moments before had migrated and decided to take a holiday as Sirius' expression. "This is what karma feels like, isn't it?" he realized.

"Dinner in the kitchens sounds nice," Artemesia decided and suggested the following cover story: "I'll make up some excuse and say I was working in my office until late at night. You can have been off doing something extra-important for Auriga, like helping her get rid of doxies or something in the Astronomy tower. Auriga will have to back you up—she owes us."

"Yes. Right. Food. Doxies," Sirius repeated, obviously trying to figure out how in the world history seemed to be repeating itself. It was not like James had actually been speaking about something else, had he? Actually, if he had, Sirius would be relieved, for then it would have actually been code for, well, how long it would take for he and Artemesia to get together. Actually, that was something of a lose-lose situation, wasn't it? Either it was proof that students noticed their teachers acting strangely around each other or that his friends had maintained a running bet about him without him ever discovering it. Wait a minute, doxies? "What do you mean, doxies?"

"Live with it, Black," Artemesia replied in a good humor as they started to walk to the kitchens. "If you say it like that, your students are more likely to believe you. After all, they know Auriga has a couple of screws loose. They don't know we do yet, and that's on our side."

"But still. Couldn't it be something a little less… lame? Like an Erkling? Although I suppose that that might just serve to frighten the first-years. Then again—shit. I forgot. I mentioned the discussion on Saturday. I guess I could always blame it on the acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest and say Auriga is arachnophobic," Sirius said, rambling a bit.

A thought then hit Artemesia. "What do you mean, 'the discussion on Saturday'?" she demanded. Oh, if he had been at least partially behind the evil scheme, then she was fully prepared to going back to not speaking to him. "Was this your idea?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? Why would I pick a random broom closet? The Room of Requirement is much less cramped, depending. In any case, I was just asking her for advice, seeing as you had just run off all of a sudden," he explained, defending himself. "It's not like I asked her to come up with a crazy scheme. She just suggested how to behave a bit."

"Oh. That was nice of her," Artemesia admitted. They continued to walk to the kitchens in comfortable silence. See, Sirius could be a gentleman when he felt like it, Artemesia remembered. Unfortunately, he had rarely seen fit to do so in their school days. She recalled a particularly ace example of not seeing fit to act like a respectable human being in their fifth year. Granted, she supposed that he could _almost_ be excused, seeing as it had been a dare. She still wondered how those four classmates hadn't noticed that they all went out with the git in the same week. Of course, Dorcas had one-upped him by going out with three different boys on the following Hogsmead weekend. That girl had been slightly mad and strangely kangaroo-like. "I miss Dorcas, that crazy twit," she murmured. "Why did this damn war have to…"

"I'll never understand, on one level, but it was our decision to fight, I guess," Sirius replied softly, "but the cost has been too high." He grimaced and went as far to say, "You know, Voldemort—" Artemesia did not flinch when he said the name; she was used to him talking as he did, and somehow whenhe said it, she didn't mind. "—has essentially done more damage to the 'pure' bloodlines than any amount of so-called 'crossbreeding' could ever do. If any of the Death Eaters stopped to consider it at all, they would realize that, thanks to them, the purebloods are in such a minority that their goal is unaccomplishable. I mean, my God, but the Meadowes and McKinnons, among others, have been completely wiped off the face of the Earth, and I doubt that by the end of this any of my family or its allies are left. Then Neville's the last Longbottom. I almost wish my mother was alive so I rub it in her face."

"You're not going to die in the war, Sirius," Artemesia said confidently. "Honestly. If you could survive the living hell that was the last war as an _Auror_, then you'll make it through this one as a noncombatant." She knew, though, that he was not the type to stand around while others were fighting for what was right. He would rejoin the fight sooner or later, damn the consequences. She loved and hated that about him. "Don't talk like that."

Sirius smiled wanly and reminded her, "Hey, the Defense position's cursed, and seeing as I'm not incompetent, a Death Eater, or Remus, it seems like the only way I'm getting out of the job is a duel to the death." He seemed to realize that the conversation had turned too morbid for Artemesia's tastes. Sirius probably did not like the content too much, either. "But, then again, I'm not one to follow tradition, am I?" he said lightly, attempting to at least cheer Artemesia up.

Artemesia smiled slightly at that and realized that they were nowhere near the kitchens. "Where in the castle are we?" she wondered. "The entrance to the kitchens is a hall over."

"Oh, it is? Wait, there's an actual entrance to the kitchens and not just the secret passage?" Sirius asked her, somewhat surprised by the turn of events. "Huh. Good to know." Since they were close to the hidden entrance, that was how they came to be in the kitchens. Once they stepped through the door, however, Sirius was ambushed by about half the house-elf staff of Hogwarts. Smiling, Artemesia really wondered how frequently he had come down here when they had been in school. Sirius asked her what she wanted for dinner, and she answered with her favorite comfort food, receiving a smile from him in return. She continued to watch him negotiate with the house-elves about the food, and a small voice spoke from next to her, saying, "Does Professor Vector, miss, wish her dinner also to be placed in Professor Black's office?"

Artemesia did not quite know how to reply to that. "Well…" she trailed off, fully aware of the fact that her face was probably red (why was she still acting like an immature schoolgirl?).

Thankfully, Sirius said jokingly to the house elves, "I wouldn't want to keep Professor Vector from her highly important work." Grinning, he said more seriously, "Maybe another time, Artemesia? Then again, that might cause some talk, wouldn't it?"

"Please excuse Winky, Professor Vector, miss," a familiar-looking house elf requested.

Artemesia wondered how badly she was blushing. Why in all of the possible worlds did Sirius have to be so flirtatious all the time? The man really hadn't changed since they were sixteen. Why did he have to phrase that last part like he was asking her out? She hoped he wasn't. They couldn't. Oh, she had missed him, but they would not and could not go back. It hurt to realize that, but it was the truth. There was too much between them. Too much. "It's fine," Artemesia finally replied to the house elf's statement. Meanwhile, Sirius was looking at her, a little confused. Did he not realize what he had implied?

"Dobby is glad that Professor Vector, miss, is not offended. Winky has not been very well lately, especially because of Winky's former master," the house elf, Dobby, informed her.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and looked to be thinking. "Where have I heard that name before?" he murmured to himself. Artemesia honestly could not figure him out. One second, he was analyzing her behavior, and the next he was trying to remember where he'd heard the name of a random house elf in the kitchens. He looked up sharply all of a sudden and asked of house elf who had last spoken, "You don't happen to be Dobby as in Narcissa's prat of a husband's former house elf, Dobby? The one that Harry told me he helped free two or three years ago?"

"Dobby is honored that Harry Potter remembers Dobby and thought to mention Dobby to Professor Black, sir," Dobby said excitedly. "Yes, Dobby's former master was a very bad master. Dobby never very much liked former-Master Lucius."

"He was always so… blond," Sirius agreed, staring off into space a bit. "Never quite figured out why Cissy liked him so much. I think James decided that Narcissa married Lucius because she wanted blond children."

"Do I want to know?" Artemesia asked disbelievingly. This conversation was starting to become absolutely ridiculous. Why were they speaking about the Malfoys? It was bad enough that she had to teach one, so it was particularly exasperating when a discussion of them caused her dinner to be delayed after having spent the entire afternoon stuck in a closet with her former (yet admittedly still oh-so-rakishly-handsome) almost-fiancé and realizing that the entire school would soon think that they had a 'thing' going on (which she had to admit she wouldn't mind so much). Wait, what? Of course she would mind if the student body found out! She then realized her hackles had not been raised at the thought of…

"Not really, Artemesia. James had some weird ideas about them," Sirius replied honestly to her question. He grinned and reminded her, "Well, we should probably go establish our alibis so our behavior isn't too conspicuous. I don't really want to explain all of this to Harry under any circumstances in the near future, especially the part where we're locked in a closet."

Artemesia smiled weakly, berating herself for her earlier thoughts. "Yes, you're right," she replied, starting to feel angry with herself for playing such a damsel-in-distress. "Well, I think I should be off. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast?"

Sirius smiled back a little hesitantly. "Of course, Artemesia," he answered in turn. "Maybe we could do this—the whole having a decent conversation thing—again sometime?"

Artemesia nodded and opened the door behind her, knowing that the house elves had probably already put the food in their respective offices. "Good night, Professor," she said, knowing the formality would annoy him but feeling that she had to have some control over the situation. Plus, he usually took that sort of teasing in a good way. At least, he once did.

His eyes dimmed a bit, but he continued to smile. "Well… G'night, Artemesia…"

She smiled briefly and left the room, closing the door behind her. She shut her eyes. Oh, that could have gone better. What had just happened, anyway? What had she been thinking?

They couldn't even consider restarting their relationship. There was no way.

And she would not tell him about her daughter if she could help it.

* * *

_**Notes**: There's a plot in here somewhere. I promise. (At least we're not at the neverending day yet.) Question: does anyone have a preference as to which plot-line is more interesting (Terry, his ridiculous escapades, and the effects of said escapades or the romantic stuff)? Oh, and much thanks to Raeynnbeau and nycRENTgirl for their... help, such as it is (don't ask; for God's sake, don't ask). They're the plot-betas that give me plot bunnies. In any case__, much thanks to my reviewers, and thank you all for reading. If you've the time, please review._

_**Coming Soon**: The Death Eaters stage a prison break, and Luna informs Gemma of things._


	13. The Acid Queen

Terry was having the worst night of his life. Well, he corrected, one of the worst. It had frequently been worse, if he was to be honest with himself. In any case, Azkaban prison was not a nice place. Firstly, it was dark. Secondly, it was cold. Thirdly, it was the one place he had never wanted to visit in the Wizarding world. He was even less excited because he was assigned to release Bellatrix Lestrange. Of all people, Voldemort had chosen _him_ to free _her_. Terry tried to ignore the fact that he was shivering. It was not from the cold, but he wanted to deny he was afraid. That woman had almost killed him, meant for him to die, but he had held on just a little longer than she thought he would, and that small but crucial amount of time saved his life.

Terry shook his head and halted, trying to get a hold of himself. This was no time to lose his composure. If any of the others noticed his behavior, there was a chance that they would remember him. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. He did not want to face another interrogation. No. Never again. Granted, he could never satisfactorily control his emotions in the Lestrange woman's presence. To distract himself, Terry turned to look at the cell he had stopped in front of. How undeniably ironic. Black. Number 340. Next to the former cell of the infamous escapee was Bellatrix Lestrange in cell number 341.

"_Alohomora_," Terry murmured, his hands shaking. Pocketing his wand, he reached for the cell door and opened it. Lestrange was reclining on the cell's excuse for a cot. Completely unperturbed, she stared at him almost lazily. "Madame Lestrange, I'm Darien Grey, and I'm here to break you out," he declared before he knew what he was saying. She continued to stare at him like he was mostly brain-dead. "I serve our Lord, Voldemort," he explained.

"Well, why did you not say so in the first place, boy?" she demanded icily, looking Terry over. He was unsure of what she thought of him until she continued, "I had expected that our Lord would have found more suitable servants. I find you come up short of my expectations." Terry thought she was remarkably lucid for spending fourteen years in Azkaban. "Although, my Lord does know me rather well…" she trailed off thoughtfully.

Terry tensed. Taking a breath to calm himself down, he informed her, "We need to hurry. The Aurors will only pay attention to the diversion for so long." She nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. "Some of the others have already freed your husband and his brother," he mentioned, trying to keep the conversation away from the topic of him.

"I can see why my Lord has assigned you to me," Bellatrix murmured as she walked with him. She scoffed. "Your nervousness is so obvious that an Auror would pause and wonder if you were on his side," she informed him imperiously. "I would hazard you've not even received the Mark. I certainly hope you are not so naïve to believe that you'll avoid it."

"I'm not," Terry replied, trying to ignore what she was saying. The less contact he had with the woman, the better off he would be, mentally and physically. "I will serve him until death," he continued, figuring that Bellatrix would believe him. After all, he would spy on Voldemort until either he was executed or a particular prophecy was fulfilled.

Bellatrix laughed. Terry found it hard not to flinch and thanked his lucky stars he didn't. "Give me my wand," she ordered harshly. Terry wondered how she could have known that they had already raided the place where the convicts' wands were kept (on a whim, he had nicked one that had called to him for some reason). After he handed her wand over, Bellatrix smiled wickedly and murmured, "_Silencio_." Terry was taken aback by her action, but he could only stare at the woman, afraid of what exactly she was going to do next. "Oh, don't look like such a deer in the headlights," she admonished. "I'm only going to use you as a distraction against the Aurors." Terry could only stand there frozen as she cast all sorts of glamour spells on him, hoping they did not negatively interact with the ones he had cast on himself. "There. You look just like him." Terry found that he really did not want to know whom he looked like.

Bellatrix grabbed his arm and dragged him around the corner. "Struggle," she hissed into his ear. Fighting her was far easier for Terry than keeping his cool, especially since he really felt like getting away from her. Bellatrix, of course, had no problems manhandling him with her wand at his throat. "Cease fire or I'll kill him," she declared to the cadre of Aurors that were fighting some Death Eaters. Surprisingly, the Aurors hesitated for a moment, and Terry wondered exactly whom he looked like. "Come now, you don't want me to kill one of your own?" Bellatrix asked sweetly, coming off as incredibly frightening to Terry.

Terry realized whom she had disguised him as. "You made me look like _Black_?" he growled angrily, but mutely, at her. Had no one informed her of Black's escape? It was frustrating that even though Bellatrix bordered on the clairvoyant sometimes, she could not divine that her cousin, who had been in the cell next to her, had escaped and been cleared.

"Oh, cousin, don't be like that," Bellatrix purred loudly enough for the audience to listen. Her tone of voice made a chill run down Terry's spine. "Or would you like me to bring your body directly to your brother this time? I'm sure he would be absolutely thrilled to see you." Terry imagined that the horrified look on his face was exactly what Bellatrix had wanted, but he hoped that she had assumed the Death Eaters had warned him of what happened to traitors via the tale of Regulus Black instead of dredging up Terry's all-too vivid memories.

"That bastard's been dead for years, Lestrange. You should have chosen someone actually worth saving instead of one of yours," an Auror spat out. Terry looked at him and realized he looked vaguely familiar. Was that Kingsley? He was Order now, wasn't he? Terry remembered the time in seventh year when Kingsley had been that annoying fifth-year prefect, who ran around and caused general havoc the way only a Gryffindor could. Kingsley had actually dared give him detention once, but Terry had deserved it. Still, giving a Slytherin seventh-year detention for sneaking around after hours had been a gutsy move.

"Oh, well. It was worth a try," Bellatrix admitted dramatically. She then said, "But you never know who he actually is. Your loss. _Crucio_. Here's the rub: save the potential Death Eater or risk leaving one of your own to be tortured." Bellatrix shrugged and, dropping an agonized Terry to the floor, joined the fray. He was just thankful she at least had the presence of mind to void the silencing spell.

Terry felt the pain lessen after a few moments, but all he could do was watch the dueling between the Death Eaters and Aurors. The worst part was that he very much felt like saying to hell with it all and sending some shots of a particular Unforgivable the way of his pseudo-colleagues. Pain had never been conducive to his reasoning. Well, there were other ways to sabotage Bellatrix's plan before one of the Aurors felt like they should try to help him. He dug in his cloak pocket for his wand and, finding it, murmured, "_Finite Incantatum_." The illusions all melted away. The Aurors who noticed were the ones who had been thinking of checking on him. Kingsley was one of them, Terry noticed. He smiled grimly and recast his standard glamour spells. Kingsley ignored him from that point onward. Terry was glad. He had always liked Kingsley, as annoying the resulting detention with Slughorn had been (Terry was unfortunately a member of the Slug Club—he never could say no, an annoying character flaw).

The fighting started to wind down, with the Aurors retreating. Terry did not blame them, especially with the Dementors as the cavalry. A Death Eater, who had been waiting in the wings and was Snape dragged Terry to his feet. The Potions Master seemed to be saving him quite a bit these days. Terry counted the Death Eaters in stripes and realized they had gotten all of the prisoners out. Luckily, it seemed like they were still going to beat a hasty retreat instead of attempting to take the prison. "Don't just stand there, Grey. You're going to get yourself killed if you remain stationary," Snape snapped at him. Terry, of course, came to attention and followed his fellow spy out, glad to be rid of the burden of looking after Bellatrix, who was currently concerned with casting Dark magic at the Aurors.

After they Portkeyed to the rendezvous point, which was coincidentally headquarters, Snape demanded of Terry, "What the hell did you think you were doing, dispelling those glamours? If Bellatrix had noticed what you were doing, she would have killed you outright, _Grey_." Terry remained thankful that Snape had never called him White ever since the episode with the Confunding and London and the song as made famous by the Clash.

"Well, I wasn't going to keep the appearance of a dead man, Snape. There are some things I find sacrilegious, you know, and wearing a dead man's face is one of them," Terry growled angrily. He looked off to the side. "Besides, it's not like they would have been able to tell that much anyway. I was too far away for them to really notice the change."

"Yes, I suppose your argument has some merit, but your suddenly having grey hair is something that I think even the least observant Auror would notice. It's insane to even argue the point further, Grey. You may bear a passing resemblance to Regulus, but you look too little like him for anyone to be stupid enough to take you for him," Snape retorted.

"Like I would _want_ to look like _Sirius Black_'s brother!" Terry shot back, disgusted with where the conversation was going. A thought then hit Terry, and he demanded furiously of Snape, "She didn't even make it so I'd aged, did she?"

"No. Our fearless ally made you to look nineteen. Took away from the illusion, I thought. She didn't even account for what she had done would have looked like had he survived," Snape replied tensely, obviously uncomfortable with the subject matter. "I cannot begrudge your acting, however."

Trying to ignore the chill he felt on remembering, Terry shook his head and murmured, "I wasn't acting. She just does that to me." Snape looked at Terry curiously. "I was at her mercy once. It's not something I'd like to repeat," Terry explained.

"Voldemort sent her after you? How did you eascape?" Snape asked, curious, which made Terry nervous. Severus Snape was not the kind of man to ask blunt questions under any circumstances. Terry wondered what Snape suspected he was up to. After the night when they planned the raid, Terry resolved to take no more chances with the Death Eaters.

"I didn't, Severus," Terry responded, laughing, "but you probably don't remember me."

"A man as mad as you are I would be loath to forget," Snape quipped.

Terry smiled at his former friend sadly. "I think you have," he murmured before staring down at the floor. He shook his head. "Shouldn't the others be here?" he asked, attempting to be stoic.

Snape noticed the abrupt change in emotions and followed the trail of thoughts. He nodded and replied, "Yes. We were supposed to come back shortly before the rest to make sure no spies or general members of the Light Side were present."

Terry paused, considered the wording, and laughed. Snape sighed ever-sufferingly and donned the expression that signified he did not want to know. Terry ignored the request and asked, "Have you ever noticed how clichéd our rhetoric is? We sound like we're straight out of bad science fiction, even on good days." He shook his head wryly. "I mean, I almost quoted—"

"I am very close to cursing you, Grey," Snape warned, obviously wondering why he had considered encouraging Terry's bizarre conversation topics. "And before you continued, don't compare Voldeort to Muggle dictators. He hates it when anyone mentions parallels. Pettigrew was hiding underneath the table for a week after he mentioned World War II. And, for the record, if you ever induce anyone say your lack of faith is disturbing, I can and will kill you."

"I think Bellatrix might have—" Terry silenced himself as Snape glared at him. Before Snape could properly tell Terry off, the rest of the Death Eaters started to appear. Muciber and Nott were two of the first two arrive. Macnair and the Lestrange brothers were next. A flurry of Apparations followed. The second to last to arrive was Bellatrix, covered in what Terry could only assume was blood. Terry found it disturbing to see her look so calm in such a state. Finally, Voldemort made his grand appearance. Cue the Dark Lord's speechifying pose and his followers' cowed silence.

After a particularly inspiring speech to the Death Eaters, Voldemort retired to his audience chamber to distribute orders and left his followers to mull around discussing the up and coming plans before being called in and given assignments. Terry did his best to look unperturbed while leaning against one of the cold, stone walls and glaring at people in general. Snape had long since wandered off to his potions lab. Out of all of the possible outcomes, Terry was actually glad everyone was avoiding him. It meant that he was still not trusted, but he did not feel up to dealing with anyone after freeing Bellatrix. Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice as one of the senior Death Eaters exited the audience chamber and walked over to him to say, saying, "Why, I think it is time we had a conversation, Grey."

Terry's head snapped up to stare at Bellatrix. "Pardon?" he asked, more than a little terrified. He did not want to be left alone in the same room as that woman under any circumstances. "Have I done something wrong, Madame Lestrange?" he continued, hoping that if he were as polite as possible she might decide the discussion could wait for another day.

"No, Grey," she replied pensively, as if she were sizing him up. "No, I have something of a different nature to discuss with you." She looked him over once more and sighed, shaking her head. "Well, we must find a private room to discuss certain …issues. The Dark Lord wishes for me to have a very long conversation with you."

Terry nodded calmly, accepting his fate. Under all the euphemisms, she meant that he was to be punished for his actions at the prison or general disobedience, if she even had a reason. It was not going to be a pleasant 'discussion,' that much Terry knew. "May I ask where we are to go?" he inquired stoically of her.

"To a ill-used room," Bellatrix replied dispassionately. Terry smiled vaguely at the pun. "Follow me," she commanded and started walking down one of the three halls that branched off from the antechamber. Terry tried not to think about where he was being led. He recognized the passageways from his prior tenure with the Dark Lord. Oh, Terry knew he would pay for his mission and purpose in the Death Eaters. He was under no illusions about that. He just wished someone else doled out the pain.

Bellatrix opened a door about halfway down the hall and motioned for Terry to enter. He did with much reservation. She entered behind him and closed the door behind her. The room was barely lit. It had a table in the center with two chairs and nothing else. The walls were painted a dull grey and the floor was made of stone. "Sit down," she told him. Terry obeyed, thinking it would be much less painful in the long run if he just went along with what she wanted. Bellatrix sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the room, the chair that faced the door. "You, Mr. Grey, are an enigma to the Dark Lord," she stated coldly. "You aide us in this great enterprise, yet you degrade us with your pathetic behavior and disrespect."

"I apologize if I had given anyone that impression," Terry murmured, wondering how much lying he could get away with. Probably not much, considering his interrogator.

"Furthermore, I just don't like your attitude," Bellatrix continued. She stood once more and walked over to him. "I find it interesting you are so uncomfortable with my presence. You hide it passably, but I am not fooled," she declared, inching closer to him, carefully noting his behavior. Terry was becoming less and less composed. His breathing sped up as Bellatrix knelt down next to him. Terry was still staring straight forward, trying to ignore the fact she was already far too close to him. She moved in closer and whispered into his ear, "I remember you, boy. Why do you think I chose to disguise you as Regulus Black? He was only slightly better off… Or worse, depending. At least I gave him what he begged for, in the end."

Terry tensed and shut his eyes. He did not need to hear this, not at all. No. "Ma'am, I have no clue what you are speaking of," he lied emotionlessly. Bellatrix would see through that lie, but he could not care less. He needed to keep his distance from the memories and stories and her words. Terry wished she would back off, figuratively and literally.

Bellatrix stared at him hard for the next couple of moments before laughing madly. "I expect a peasant and instead catch a prince!" she exclaimed, amused by her revelation. "Oh, the poor accent works for you well, blood traitor," Bellatrix purred happily. "So very well. Do you have fond memories of the last time that we met? I certainly do." Terry kept his gaze on a point on the opposite wall, well aware his composure was slipping more and more as the seconds passed. Bellatrix was displeased by his lack of a reaction and forcibly turned his head to look at her. "You would do well to remember to answer questions demanded of you by your betters," she hissed as her hand wandered down his neck.

Terry began to panic as her hand tightened around his throat, even though he knew she would not strangle him. This act was all just to make him uncomfortable and to send a message. At least he hoped so. If not, then his life was forfeit. "I am sorry for my dishonorable behavior, Madame Lestrange," he breathed, unable to voice the words properly.

Her hand loosened its hold on his neck, but he did not dare look away. "Good boy," Bellatrix murmured. "If you set even a hair out of line, _I_ will be the one that takes the price out of your hide," she calmly threatened him, "and then I will inform my Lord of your true identity. He will decide your fate as he sees fit, but I suppose he will pass the same judgment as before."

Terry did not protest. Bellatrix smiled predatorily and began the real 'discussion.'

* * *

Gemma was not pleased in the slightest. Luna was refusing to tell her why she was always so amused by anything the teachers did these days. Luna also said that she had no future-knowledge of the teachers, either. Gemma found that declaration to be pure dragon excrement. Honestly, if Luna was that amused by the behavior of the teachers, then there certainly was something going on that Luna must have seen. That, or Gemma's amazing powers of deduction were failing. She very much hoped on one level that Luna was Seeing something and not telling her. All Gemma noticed was that Professor Sinistra and Professor Black seemed to get on well, Snape seemed to be acting like a right git as usual, and her mother was generally getting along with everyone as always.

Gemma sighed and returned to poking her breakfast cereal with her spoon. Her admittedly dog-like cat, named Vega and dubbed Grim-cat by Luna, was sitting on her lap, purring like there was no tomorrow. Luna was sitting across from her, having migrated from the Ravenclaw table for the morning meal. "Luna, I just don't know what you think is going on," she murmured, continuing to rearrange the cereal uselessly.

"You need not consider it too much, Gemma," Luna replied. "There is just amusing behavior on all sides., especially with what happened last week."

Gemma shot an unamused look at her friend. "Mum was working, Luna. She told me so," she repeated for what seemed like the twentieth time. "Really. Besides, who really believes that there could be something going on between Mum and Professor Black? I know the Weasley twins believe there is, or at least they think there's something going on between Professor Black and Professor Sinistra because of their NEWT class, but it's still all way too ridiculous for me."

Luna shrugged and looked pensive in her somewhat spacey way. She turned her attention to the large, fluffy, black cat. "The Grim-cat was not on the train," she mentioned. Gemma sometimes wondered how Luna got from one topic to another, but she was not going to argue.

"Mum brought Vega with her so I would not have to take her on the train, Luna," Gemma explained, glancing back over at the teacher's table. Professor Black smiled somewhat hesitantly at Gemma's mother, who returned the smile in a similar manner. Gemma did not doubt that there was some sort of tension there, but she steadfastly did not believe as the Weasley twins did that her mother and her Defense professor had spent a couple hours snogging in a closet. She had the feeling that Luna believed the twins, which was why she was more willing to believe what her mother had told her. Then again, Gemma found the story a little fishy herself, but she found it obvious that whatever was going on between her mother and Professor Black did not support the conclusion the Weasley twins and supposedly Luna had indeed drawn.

"The Weasley twins were incorrect about the activity, not the situation," Luna mentioned off-handedly. She sipped the tea she had in front of her and produced a piece of paper. "They have decided to start a betting pool, Alphecca," Luna informed her as she handed off the paper.

"What?" Gemma asked, a little confused. As she read the paper, Gemma's eyes went wide before she started cursing, albeit mildly and quietly so. It read thusly:

_Dear Student Population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

_It has come to our attention that there is some sort of romantical plot or some such concerning our occasionally gonzo Arithmancy professor and rather amazing Defense professor. The seventh year NEWT Defense class noted on Friday that said professor left after Professor Sinistra (whom we all know is a hopeless romantic and has been patiently waiting for her revenge) had called him out of the classroom about something "urgent." Similarly, Snape pulled Professor Vector out of the NEWT Arithmancy class for reasons none can fathom, although we—three representatives of the graduating class in Gryffindor house—believe we know the reason. As one may have noticed, the behavior at the teacher's table has been rather… strained. Dear Professor Sinistra, as we all know, stabbed Snape with a fork at the beginning of the year. Then, all of a sudden, after Friday, these four professors have been acting less… mad than usual. To be frank, the change is astounding. Sinistra, of all professors, is actually acting somewhat SANE. So, we have put two and two together. Therefore, this and other semi-related bets we do suggest:_

_--By the end of the year, Sinistra will have again snapped and will stab others (preferably Snape): 10:1._

_--By the end of the semester, Professors Black and Vector will be found snogging (or worse) in a closet, hall, bathroom, classroom, or the Chamber of Secrets: 2:1._

_--By the end of the year, said two will be found shagging in one of their offices: 5:1._

_--By the end of the year, You-Know-Who will have tried to kill Harry yet again: 1:1,000,000._

_--Harry Potter will notice none of this (Sorry, Harry, but you're none too observant in these matters), except maybe the death-threat or plot: 1:100._

_--Gryffindor will win the house cup: 4:1._

_--Slytherin will win the house cup: 4:1._

_--Ravenclaw will win the house cup: 4:1._

_--Hufflepuff will win the house cup: 4:1._

_--Professor Black will return for another year: 3:2.  
_

_We are well aware that there is a fear of reprisal among us students, but do not despair! These papers have been charmed so that no one below the age of 13 (to spare the ickle firsties) or over the age of 18 can read them. We also consulted an expert on charmed papers, so if you even attempt to show this to a professor, you will flash colors (ex. red and gold) for the next four hours, and the professor will only be able to see an insulting parchment. Send bets by writing which bet (or one of your own) and your name and dropping it off at the rubbish bin by the painting of Sir Cadogan, the mad knight who was the portrait for Gryffindor the last time our beloved Defense professor was here in a different capacity._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Fred and George Weasley and Lee Jordan, the Seventh Year Pranksters-General_

Gemma stared at the paper for a bit and then put it down. She picked it back up, reread it, and then handed it back to Luna like it was a piece of rancid meat. "I did not need to read that, Luna," Gemma declared, wishing she could unread what she had read, and continued, "It was disturbing enough to know that the upperclassmen seem to think my mum and Professor Black are romantically involved. I did not need to know that those three wreakers of havoc were placing bets on whether or not Professor Black and my _mum_ will be _shagging_. Why, Luna? _Why_?"

"Because I wanted to determine how averse you were to the idea," Luna answered calmly and logically. The Ravenclaw glanced over at the teacher's table and grimaced. Turning back to Gemma, she continued, "While I do not really approve of the wording of the letter, there is a distinct possibility that your mother may start a relationship with our Defense professor. It is rather obvious by the way that they look at each other, I think." Luna paused then shrugged. "Then again, if nothing happens for a month, everyone will realize that there is nothing going on, and the school will go back to normal. Only the Pranksters-General will believe."

"But did they really have to say 'shag'? I mean, it's my _mum_," Gemma repeated, dazed.

Luna smiled at her friend and said, "Alphecca, I love you dearly, but you have to realize that the general population of the school is unaware of the fact that one of the professors has a child attending school at the present moment. In any case, if the Weasley twins knew, they would be badgering you constantly. I personally prefer the alternative. No badgers that way."

* * *

___**Coming Soon**: Speculation of the Ron and Hermione kind and FLASHBACK TIME x 2. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	14. From Whose Bourne

_It was just another day in late January. It was cold and snowing a bit, but the weather was clear. It should have been a little foggy. Sirius did not like the waether one bit, but James seemed to. Then again, James was not particularly paying attention to the weather. He was talking about something. Sirius was listening, don't get him wrong, but it was just random talk. He sighed and tried to ignore the weather._

_"Did you hear what was passed down today through the boss?" James asked._

_Sirius looked up, snapping out of his musings. "What are you talking about?" he wondered. He knew full well he was sulking. It wasn't healthy. Sirius vaguely wondered (morbidly) how he would react at the funerals of his other friends (they wouldn't all survive)._

_"Sirius, honestly. You need to pay more attention. It's the rationale for the switching of our beats, remember? There have been higher levels of Death Eater activity in certain areas lately, and we've been relegated here. Apparently now they trust us with a medium/high-level hazard area instead of the kiddy-level they've been keeping us on forever," James explained casually._

_"You're starting to sound like Lily, Prongs," Sirius commented goodnaturedly. Well, the news certainly explained some things. They continued to walk, and Sirius looked up at the sky for a moment. Something felt off, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. The snow was falling from the grey sky slowly, reminding him of dirge, and Sirius half expected a real Grim to jump out of an alleyway. James had gone back to prattling about Quidditch. Sirius smiled half-heartedly and rejoined the discussion on which team was going to win the championships that year._

_About half-way through the patrol, James stopped to get a cup of coffee at a Muggle convenience store. Sirius was waiting outside, leaning against the wall, looking thoroughly like a vagabond with his windswept hair, worn jacket, and ripped jeans. The two of them had had enough sense to dress as Muggles in their generation did, although Sirius had managed to look scruffy enough to cause _respectable_ people to stare at him in distaste. Sirius grinned cockily, despite his dark mood and if only to piss off the faceless masses. The only thing missing to complete the illusion that he was a good-for-nothing was a cigarette, but he'd quit the habit as soon as he realized he was allergic to the potion that got rid of tar in the lungs. He didn't fancy getting cancer or coughing for the rest of his life._

_Sirius resumed watching the sky. Everything was so gloomy. He generally liked the gloominess of fair London-town, but the snow was unnerving. It was too crisp outside, making him feel uncomfortable. He glanced to his right. There was an alleyway a few doors down. Snow was collecting on the ground, the sidewalk, the street, random passers-by. He felt a chill run down his spine, and Sirius looked down to the ground._

_In front of the entrance to the alleyway, the snow was tinged pink. Sirius straightened immediately, scanning the few people walking past. None of them seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. The street was mostly deserted, and this part of town was not the safest, but still. Either Sirius was overly paranoid, or there was a Muggle-repelling charm on the alley. He knew it had to be a crime-scene. Call it a feeling. James had walked out of the store and was staring questioningly at Sirius, who glanced at his friend, making eye contact, before rushing over to the alley._

_There was a body. It was half-way down the alley. The blood had oozed all the way to the sidewalk of the street. Sirius grimaced. Another fatality of the war, in all likelihood. "James, you better get over here," he called and stepped closer. The dead man was beaten all to hell. Sirius doubted that even the man's brother could have recognized him. There were either cutting-curse marks or knife-wounds all over his arms and legs (the unknown victim was wearing a tattered black robe over similarly abused, loose Muggle clothing). His hands were covered in burns; the right one was bent at an odd angle, most likely broken. A leg was bent in an unnatural direction. There was some strange coloring to the victim's skin that seemed to indicate overdoses of certain banned potions. The body had a pale blue tinge to it. The victim's throat was slit. It was the source of all the blood. The left arm had many parallel cuts up and down as if he had tried to flay the Dark Mark off his arm. The victim appeared to have been tortured for quite some time and had in all likelihood been subjected to the Cruciatus._

_James had walked over and was standing next to Sirius. "My God," he murmured, looking nauseated, almost dropping his coffee. They had run across some terrible murders, but this one was damned ghastly. "He must have really pissed Voldemort off. Good for him," he commented, astonished. The gallows humor was not uncalled for, but it felt inappropriate for some reason._

_Sirius furrowed his eyebrows. What was he missing? The victim looked to be about their age, maybe a little younger. It was hard to tell thanks to all of the bruising. Dark hair obscured most of the victim's face, but Sirius knew better than to fiddle with the crime scene to attempt a preliminary ID of the victim. Judging by the fatal wound, it appeared that Voldemort was trying to send a message, which could only mean that the man was either a traitor to or tried to back out of the Death Eaters. Why else would Muggle means be used to murder the man? Granted, a cutting curse may have been the real murder weapon, but the bloody knife next to the body made a clear enough point. Sirius had the feeling this was Bellatrix's work._

_James was likewise surveying the crime scene until he suddenly stopped. He started and stared at the body with growing horror. "Sirius," James said, very hesitant to speak. "Look…"_

_Sirius stared at his friend for a moment before surveying the scene again. Knife. Body. Blood. Broken bones. Bruises. Burns. Obscured face. The wind blew. (Sirius shuddered; it was so cold and bitter today.) Not so obscured face. Bruised, cut face. Pained—even in death—face._

_His brother's face._

_His brother._

_Dead._

_Sirius started to back up, almost tripping over himself. "No… No—No, th-this can't be… J-James, tell me that—that isn't…" James remained silent. Oh, God. His brother. His idiot little brother. Hadn't Sirius warned him? Why did he have to go and… It was his fault. He'd told him to reconsider. Now he was dead. His blood tinted the snow._

_Sirius ran. Outside of the alleyway, he retched, further defiling the once white snow. The passers-by probably thought he was drunk. The thought set Sirius off laughing. He couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop? He wanted to stop. His chest hurt. It hurt too much._

_James dragged him back behind the repelling spell. Sirius kept on laughing, continued to laugh uncontrollably. Why did he always laugh when faced with death? The thought was all he needed to begin sobbing. James left him where he was for the moment and called their superior. They _were_ on a case now, after all. James tried to calm his friend down after that._

_By the time a forensics unit and Auror squad arrived, Sirius had fallen silent. He was sitting outside of the alleyway, off to the side, just staring off into the distance, as he lost track of time. James was calmly explaining what had happened to their superior. Sirius could not be bothered to listen. He didn't need to say anything, anyway. James would take care of it._

_Then came the question. "Mr. Potter, were you the first to set foot in the alleyway?"_

_"No, sir," James answered even though he knew that it would be a bad idea if their superior started to ask Sirius questions. James glanced over at his best friend, who looked like he had completely disengaged himself from reality. James didn't blame him. "Sirius did before me."_

_Sirius remembered their superior was named Scrim-something. New guy. Promoted after their last superior was knocked off by Voldemort's lackeys. The man then addressed Sirius harshly: "Black, why are you not giving the report?" Since Sirius made no move to respond or even move, the Auror demanded, "Answer me, Black!"_

_"I request to be transferred off the case, sir," Sirius replied in a monotone, still staring blankly out into the street. Making his decision, he slowly stood and, turning to face Scrimgeour, murmured, "Excuse me, sir, but I'm going home." He started to leave._

_"Black, if you leave now, you can be damned certain you'll be turning your badge in tomorrow morning," Scrimgeour threatened. Sirius remembered the man at that point. He was one of the Ministry men who had argued against letting Sirius into the Aurors in the first place._

_Well, so be it, then. Sirius turned around once more, a pained look on his face. He laughed softly and shook his head. Scrimgeour looked like he was going to start yelling at him, but Sirius resumed walking away. He was going to take the Underground home—no way was he Apparating. It was too cold, far too cold._

_"BLACK, GODDAMN IT, ANSWER ME! YOU KNOW WHAT, THAT'S IT! I'M HAVING WORDS WITH THE DIRECTOR! GOOD LUCK FINDING ANOTHER MINISTRY JOB! …YOU'RE DIGGING YOURSELF A HOLE YOU'LL NEVER GET OUT OF, BOY! YOUR ACTIONS ARE THE ACTIONS OF A GU—"_

_Sirius was half a block away and was content to just ignore the older man's exclamations. What did it all matter anyway? His little brother was lying dead in an alley. He was not looking forward to telling his parents. Sirius knew he had to be the one to tell them. There was no way he could leave the task to anyone else. They deserved better. Sirius looked up at the sky. Still grey. Still cold. The sky was darker. The snow was falling more heavily. It figured that the weather matched his mood. He was done crying; the sky could take that up for him. Sirius pulled his jacket more tightly around him, wishing he had at least decided to wear a warm coat instead of the grungy jacket._

_He turned the corner, glad that Scrimgeour had silenced himself or had faded into the background. The entrance to the Underground was a block away. The children walking down the street looked fascinated and overjoyed by the snowflakes. Sirius smiled wanly. He missed being that innocent and suddenly wished James had followed him. Sirius needed to talk to him, but he knew Scrimgeour would have fired James, too._

_A couple of train stops later, Sirius was standing in front of the door to a certain house. He knocked on the door. No one came for a good couple of minutes. The snow was falling very heavily by that point, dusting his hair and shoulders. He figured the effect was dramatic with the white crystals in contrast with the jet-black._

_Finally, the door opened. Just whom he did not want to see. He couldn't manage a spiteful look but pulled off a grimace. They stared at each other for a moment before he said simply, "I hope you're happy. Now you've no sons at all."_

_Sirius left his mother standing there, staring after him. He ignored his mother as she called after him and his father's questions to his mother. Sirius glanced back through the snow and saw his mother sobbing into his father's shoulder. His father was staring back, obviously disappointed in him. Sirius looked down guiltily before glancing back, momentarily letting his emotions flit across his face. His father made a slight nod, understanding. Sirius mirrored the action and left._

_As he trudged through the snowdrifts, he knew he could never return to that house of pain and sorrow.

* * *

_

Ron really wondered about his brothers sometimes. This new scheme of theirs was insane, especially since the "expert" they had consulted happened to be a certain former teacher who—Ron halted his line of thought. Maybe Professor Lupin _did_ know what the twins were up to. The thought slightly disturbed him. Then again, the former teacher did seem to have a particularly wry sense of humor. In any case, it had been a couple weeks since Fred and George circulated those flyers, and most students had decided that, while it would be amusing to participate, nothing outweighed the risk of making enemies of Sirius or Professor Vector, whom Ron had since learned was actually rather decent for an adult and an excellent teacher.

Hermione, said source of information, was convinced that Fred and George's theories were mad. She believed that her professor was dating someone else—had been doing so for at least the past two years. Besides, the incidents that had been referred to as proof, Hermione had said, could have meant anything. After all, Professor Sinistra did say that she had called Sirius away to talk about a doxy infestation in her office, and when questioned by the twins, Snape had said Professor Vector had been called away on a family emergency. Hermione took all of it for fact. Harry simply thought the bets ("Did Fred and George have to say someone would _walk in on them_?") and the idea itself were crazy, although he was biased ("And what do they mean I won't notice anything?").

Ron disagreed: Lupin had helped the twins with the charms for the papers, Sinistra was acting suspiciously less spare than usual, and, disturbingly enough, Snape had _actually answered a question_. From that evidence alone, there was something going on. Unfortunately, Ron had gathered some of his own evidence. Why couldn't the two professors act their age? Even Ron thought they were acting immaturely! Every time the two of them were in the same room, one would stare at the other and when the other noticed, the first one would look in the opposite direction, completely embarrassed. And the looks at mealtimes! Could they be any more obvious? No one else seemed to notice, and Lavander and Parvati were inexplicably under the impression that the real couple was Sirius and Sinistra. It boggled the mind. Fred, George, and Lee were all searching for evidence to support their theories, but they managed to miss all of it! Ron figured it was because they were looking for a secret rendezvous. No, there wasn't anything of that sort going on yet, not if neither adult acted like an adult.

Ron had to admit the most interesting reaction to Fred, George, and Lee's conspiracy theories belonged to Gemma, the girl Ron, Harry, and the rest had met on the train. Hermione said that Gemma, despite having a different, was Professor Vector's daughter, according to the popular belief of all Arithmancy students. Ron thought Gemma looked like Professor Vector, but she looked like someone else, too. Ron still had to figure that out. In any case, Gemma had read the paper, twitched a bit, looked to throttle her best friend, then complained in a similar manner as Harry before telling Fred and George off, neglecting, of course, to mention Hermione's information. Ron could swear her behavior was familiar. Nothing he had thought of made any sense, unless, of course…

Ron squeaked. That… would explain a lot, but it wasn't possible. She was in third year. The dates did not line up (Did they?). Besides, there was nothing to justify a relationship prior to… Okay, so, maybe there was, and Ron was just rationalizing, but Ron didn't feel right with the idea. Someone would have said _something_ if it were true. Unless, that is, Professor Vector never told the father that Gemma was their daughter.

"Ron, what are you thinking about?" Hermione asked, curious.

Ron snapped his head up from the homework he had been attempting to work on. Hermione had a worried look on her face. Ron supposed she was entitled to it, seeing as Harry was becoming progressively frustrated with the questions about Sirius and as Ron was acting slightly nutters with all of his mental conversations concerning conspiracy theories. "Nothing much, Hermione, just the utter madness my brothers are up to. Brilliant idea, but they should've stuck to the Extendable Ears and the like instead of laying bets on Sirius's love life, you know?" Ron replied, wondering if Hermione would buy the explanation.

"You don't believe them, do you?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. "There's no way that Professor Vector and Sirius are in a romantic relationship. If you or Harry had taken Arithmancy instead of Divination, you'd both know why. She doesn't stand with practically everything we know Sirius tends to do. Also, Professor Vector has previously insinuated that she was affianced." She shook her head, glaring in the general direction of the twins. "I've heard from some of the older students that she'd said a while back that she'd been jilted a long time ago, not that I generally engage in gossip or anything. Apparently, they'd brought it up because of Professor Sinistra's behavior that year. She'd been treading on eggshells, then, around Professor Vector. In any case, Gemma's a nice enough girl. I'd always wondered what happened, though."

Ron raised an eyebrow questioningly. What had Hermione determined? Maybe she had a more rational and less potentially maddening explanation as to what the deal was about Gemma. "What do you mean, Hermione?" Ron asked, hoping he did not seem too desperate to have his theories crushed. "D'you think her fiancé abandoned her or something when she found out he was, er, having a daughter? Or something to do with the war?"

Hermione shrugged, continuing to annotate. "The older students were very unwilling to discuss it. I think they all had some idea of who Professor Vector's fiancé or boyfriend was, but they fell silent as the grave when I asked why they were all so skittish. I wasn't trying to pry, but there was just something that made me ask," she explained. "Why?" Hermione asked before realizing that Ron obviously had an idea. "Ron, do you know?"

Ron shook his head emphatically. "I've no clue at all, Hermione," he said. "Honestly, I don't want to know. The possibilities are kind of frightening."

Hermione seemed to catch on to what Ron was thinking and glanced quickly over at the third-year in question. "You don't think… Ron, that's got to be pure rubbish," Hermione replied, seemingly just as disturbed by the idea as her friend. "She can't be his daughter. I would think that Professor Vector would have told him. I mean, they work together!"

Ron realized that the conversation may have gone in a different direction than what he was thinking. "Er, Hermione? Who exactly do you think Professor Vector's old boyfriend—Gemma's dad—is?" he asked her, somewhat dreading the answer.

"Snape."

Ron stared at his friend, twitched. Only she could be so smart yet so completely brainless.

"You were thinking of someone else, weren't you?" Hermione realized, a little horrified she had even thought about Snape and Professor Vector, together. Ron tried to ignore the mental images. Hermione was obviously also attempting the same thing. She then focused on trying to figure out whom Ron had meant in that case when Harry sat down at the study table.

"Sirius is still not in his office," Harry complained. "You'd think that he'd keep normal office hours like he said he would, but, no, he has to go off right when I need to talk to him!"

Hermione paled in realization and declared, "Ron, you're absolutely, positively mad!"

"I know!" Ron exclaimed, letting his head hit the table.

Harry stared at his two friends. "What are you two talking about?" he asked, completely oblivious to the conversation he had run into the end of.

"Nothing!" both of his best friends exclaimed. Hermione, for the record, did not believe it. Ron, on the other hand, was not so sure. Harry looked at both of them like they had suddenly turned into sheep. Ron hurriedly explained, "We were just talking about Gemma, you know, the girl from the train? She was the one that was having the argument with Loony Luna Lovegood?"

Harry nodded in remembrance. "I remember her. She was nice. A third-year, but nice nonetheless," he said before resuming his prior rant, "So, I know Sirius isn't avoiding me, but it's kind of annoying that he keeps vanishing every so often right when I go to talk to him. I mean, two days ago, Colin came back here and said that he had just been to see Sirius with some questions about homework, but when I got there, no Padfoot. Then today, Susan Bones went to go talk with him, and I missed Sirius yet again."

"Well, he's normally there, Harry," Hermione mentioned, "but you would have known there was a staff meeting on Wednesday, if you had been paying attention to Professor Sinistra, and it's currently Friday night. He's probably out catching up with Professor Lupin."

"Or he's on a hot date with Professor Vector," one of the twins interrupted with a grin (Ron thought it was George).

The other twin also materialized from nowhere. "To the fifth floor broom closets, Forge!"

Lee, who had nodded in agreement, followed them as they ran off, humming some theme that ended with an exclamation of "Batman!"

"That was rather interesting," Hermione commented dully, trying to resume her Arithmancy homework. She seemed to have more than she had in the past, Ron noticed. They were also getting more Defense homework, but Ron decided that was because it was the OWL year and not because said teachers were piling on the homework so to distract themselves. Ron wished he had remained oblivious to the whole situation. Why, of all things, did he have to notice something this time? Why not with the Philosopher's Stone? Why not about the Basilisk? Why not the fact his pet rat was the man who betrayed Harry's parents? Heck, why not even that Moody wasn't Moody? But, no! It just _had_ to be the love lives of the teachers he noticed! Ron was clueless about romance for himself, so why was he the one that had to pick up on this? Why?

"Do you think they would hide in a broom closet?" Harry suddenly asked with a little fear. "You know, if, God forbid, there was something going on?"

"No," Hermione answered exhaustedly, thoroughly tired with the subject matter. "They'd probably use the Room of Requirement—you know, the room across the hall from that tapestry of that one wizard trying to teach trolls to dance."

* * *

_James found Sirius back at his friend's flat. There was a bottle of Ogden's on the table, and Sirius was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall blankly. James would be lying if he said his best friend wasn't starting to worry him. James had heard that Sirius' parents had already been informed of Regulus' death, apparently from Sirius himself. When Scrimgeour had calmed sufficiently for James to inform him that Sirius had been practically catatonic because the dead man in the alley was his younger brother, Scrimgeour had demanded that James go and find Sirius. The arse thought Sirius was a suspect, but James had to admit Sirius's behavior could appear suspect to people who didn't know him. That said, Scrimgeour had never really liked Sirius and had even gone as far to suspect he was a Death Eater._

_James highly doubted that a Death Eater would mourn a traitor to their cause in such a spectacular fashion. Probably fired and disowned again, drinking himself into oblivion. Those were certainly the actions of a Death Eater. Not of an Auror who had found his younger brother dead in an alleyway. Of course not. That was silly talk. "Sirius…" James started before realizing he had no clue how to continue. What was there to say? 'Gee, I'm sorry your Death-Eater brother's dead'? 'Well, at least we know he was probably on our side; don't worry, he's probably in a better place'?_

_"James, could you tell 'Sia not to come over tonight?" Sirius asked his friend quietly._

_James did not like the sound of that. "No, Padfoot. You shouldn't be alone," he said before walking over and sitting next to his friend. There was no way he was going to leave without someone else there to keep an eye on Sirius._

_"I don't need someone to baby-sit me, James. I'm bloody well capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much," Sirius stated dispassionately. He was still staring at the wall. He hadn't even turned to look at his best friend. The behavior was starting to make James even more nervous. He made the executive decision to call Lily._

_"Sirius, I'm staying, and that's that," James declared, putting his foot down on the matter. Sirius did not react, but James was not expecting him to. He wondered if this was how Sirius had behaved back during the summer before sixth year, the summer after the Whomping Willow Incident, when the other three Marauders had actively ignored their friend. They had treated him like he was dead to them and like he was so far beneath their notice that he could have died and they wouldn't have cared. Of course, had that actually happened, they would have regretted every moment of every day they had ignored him. Sirius had almost failed his OWLs because of the depression their behavior had put him in. Luckily, Dorcas the Mad Kangaroo had taken pity on Sirius and galvanized him to do well on the damn tests, because he had a future to think about, after all. To this day, James was thankful Dorcas had done so. He asked, "Sirius, do you mind if I use the telephone? I'm calling Lily."_

_Sirius did not respond either way._

_James grimaced. Fine. Sirius could be that way. James was becoming slightly fed up with Sirius' lack of reaction, so he phoned Lily, who had been horrified to hear what had happened. "I just heard, James. Dorcas told me. Is Sirius all right?" she asked._

_"I don't know, Lily. He's not being particularly cooperative," James quietly. He did not want Sirius to overhear. "He's not doing anything. Earlier, at least he was reacting, but now there's just nothing."_

_"Dorcas and I will go find Artemesia. She'll be able to get him to talk."_

_Their conversation continued for a few minutes. Afterward, James sat back on the couch next to Sirius, who had not moved. "It's all my fault, James. He's dead because of me," Sirius finally said, looking down to stare at his hands. "It's as good as if I killed him myself," Sirius continued haltingly, as if he were trying not to cry. "It's as good as if I was the one who… How could you do that to someone? I just don't… He was too young, didn't even realize what he was doing."_

_James put his hand on his friend's shoulder. This was not good. Granted, the fact Sirius had started talking was good, but blaming himself was not. James just hoped one of them, any of them, would be able to convince Sirius what happened to his brother was not his fault. If anything, it was his brother's fault. He was the one that joined the Death Eaters, and it wasn't as if he had been forced to make the decision at wand-point. "Sirius, you can't blame yourself for everything that happened to Regulus. It's not your fault. He was an adult, and he made his own decisions, for better or worse," James reassured him._

_Sirius shook his head and admitted distantly. "A while ago, he came over to just talk to me. He said Voldemort had sent him to kill or turn me. He knew he was going to die, 'cause he said there was no way in hell was going to do either. He wouldn't take any way out. I should have made sure he got a one-way ticket out of the country." His voice breaking, Sirius went on, "I should made him stay here or done something, anything, but I just let him leave, and now he's dead."_

_James did not quite know how to respond and decided that his presence as moral support was good enough. Time seemed to drag on for hours while James was waiting for Lily to come with Artemesia (and probably Dorcas, if he stopped to consider it). When someone finally knocked on the door, James was glad that he would get a break and felt badly for even thinking that, even if Sirius in a mood was an unpleasant experience._

_It was Lily._

_James stepped outside the apartment for a moment, shutting the door behind him. "Where's Art?" he asked without preamble. He was glad to see Lily, don't get him wrong, but he did not want to drag Sirius around for the next couple of weeks._

_"I couldn't find her," Lily replied, concerned. "Dorcas is still looking, but I don't think we'll find her soon. Her cousin's in town, and I think they went out." She paused nervously and asked, "How bad is he, really?"_

_James grimaced. "It's pretty bad. I've seen him depressed before, but this is bordering on suicidal," he replied, shaking his head. "Sirius isn't in his right mind, I don't think."_

_"How much worse is he than when he found out his uncle died?" Lily asked frankly._

_"Are you kidding? Sirius loved his uncle, don't get me wrong, but it's like comparing…" James couldn't find a good simile, so he restarted, "Well, let's just say he's so far gone at the moment, it's like he's not even here. I tried to talk to him, but I'm not even sure he's hearing me." Furrowing his eyebrows, James admitted, "Lily, I don't think we should leave him alone until he gets at least a little better. He's starting to scare me."_

_Lily understood even if she wasn't completely convinced. "James, I don't think he'd ever go through with it," she reassured him. "Think about it. Things were finally going his way. What's happened is terrible, but the last person _anyone_ would think to blame is him. I didn't really know Regulus well, but I doubt he would have wanted Sirius to blame himself."_

_"I know that; you know that; Sirius _should_ know that. I tried to tell him that, but I think I royally buggered up," James informed her, beginning to feel frustrated with his best friend again. He knew Sirius needed someone to lean on, but the damn fool needed to listen to reason. This was not the time to be stubborn, and James was not willing to risk Sirius going off and doing something so stupid that would almost kill him to snap Sirius out of it._

_A horrible idea seemed to dawn on Lily. Urgently, she demanded, "James, which one of you has the Order's Veritaserum?"_

_Slightly confused, James replied, "Sirius does. Lily, why are you asking? It's not like an overdose can kill you. I know it makes you fall into a coma after a certain point, but we've only a small bottle. Besides, all he had out was a bottle of firewiskey." The comment did, however, make James a little more nervous about leaving Sirius alone._

_Lily looked at her husband strangely. "He never told you?" she asked, astonished._

_"Never told me what?" James had a bad feeling about this._

_"James, he's deathly allergic to one of the main ingredients," she informed him. "It's why St. Mungo's always has such a hard time with him; that ingredient is the vast majority of healing draughts. Spells can only do too much." Realizing that James could feel betrayed that Lily knew this information about his best friend, she quickly continued, "I only know because the last time he was injured, a doctor mentioned it."_

_James nodded. Remembering their sense of urgency, James and Lily entered the apartment, but they needn't have worried. Sirius had moved and was foraging for food in the refrigerator. James breathed a sigh of relief. Sirius smiled at his friends. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he mentioned, but Lily saw through the façade to the grief.

* * *

_

**_Notes_**_: Yeah. So, the chapter's a bit dark, but who can say no to angst? __I know I said I would update once every two weeks, but until I'm finished with my summer jobs, expect erratic updates. Sorry. Please review. Reviews are the rays of a yellow sun to a flame's kryptonite._

_I should never try to make a metaphor again. God only knows what I'd say next time.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: lunch with Narcissa and Sirius and Artemesia don't flirt._


	15. Like Cats and Dogs

It was around lunchtime in Diagon Alley, and the weather was reasonably warm for a day in early October. Narcissa Echo Malfoy (née Black—and take care not to forget it) did not particularly approve of her current situation. She was dining, of course, in one of the more prestigious restaurants of Diagon Alley, a little place off to the side. Completely exclusive, of course, and incredibly well kempt. The problem, however, was that, since the restaurant was so full on that particular day, she had to suffer the indignity of eating at the bar with a complete stranger! (Granted, he was sure to be of the upper-crust and was probably old-blood, but she expected he would have introduced himself before sitting down.) Narcissa hoped she was exuding enough annoyance so that he would take note of her displeasure, but the man seemed to be completely oblivious. Or he was feigning ignorance on purpose. She doubted the latter.

There was no way she was going to speak first. After all, he was the rude one, and it was improper for a lady of her stature to address a man who could very well be far beneath her position. Narcissa did not really much mind that she was now openly glaring at the man. Now that she considered it, however, he looked familiar. Where had she seen him before? Oh, that was right. Platform 9 ¾. He had talked with Lucius and seemed rather impatient to go back to his children (although Narcissa privately thought the man had wanted to avoid having a long conversation with Lucius, for which she did not necessarily blame him). That changed everything. "I'm sorry, but have we met?" she asked politely, instantly banishing the glare she had just been wearing in favor of a smile. She took care not to appear too sincere. She still wished to communicate her annoyance.

The man looked up from his menu, surprised. If Narcissa knew better, she would have believed he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. However, she did not, so she thought he looked like he had just seen a Grim. He recovered quickly, even for Narcissa's standards, and replied smoothly with an expression the same as Narcissa's, "Why, I believe we have. I apologize for not speaking sooner, but I did not want to risk being mistaken. Your son, I believe it was, goes to Hogwarts, correct?" Oh, he was good. Obviously pureblood. Probably a Slytherin.

"Yes, he does," she replied, letting her smile be a little more genuine. Fine, so the fact that he actually apologized (whether he meant it or not) meant that there were still _some_ in the world who recognized that politeness, and her sister flattery, can get one a long way. She also liked him, for some reason that may have been because he knew what she was up to and was just indulging her. The thought brought back bittersweet memories. "If I remember well, you have two daughters and a son?"

The man nodded politely and answered, "Yes, I have a daughter and a son, but the second girl is their cousin. It's my children's first year and their cousin's third." Narcissa was rather surprised that the elder girl was in fact a cousin and not a sibling of the other two, but she supposed that those things happened. No one spoke of it anymore, but Bellatrix and Sirius on occasion had looked uncannily alike in their younger years.

"Oh, how nice. Into which houses were they Sorted?" Narcissa asked, following the trail of the conversation. It would also make for a good foundation for what conclusions she would gather about the man. He knew the pureblood games, but did he actively play them?

"The cousin is in Gryffindor. My children are in Slytherin and Hufflepuff," he replied nonchalantly. He clearly knew he was being judged. Narcissa almost blinked when he had mentioned Gryffindor first. That was a powerful statement, especially because he followed directly with Slytherin. He was presenting himself as neutral. Wise… and very Slytherin of him.

"Really? That is quite the assortment," she mentioned, deciding it was about time for the waiter to have come to take their orders. She took a sip of her drink. "My son is in Slytherin, but I surmise that you already knew that from my husband. You conversed with him that day."

The man looked surprised, but his surprise was false. Narcissa knew then that he had known exactly who she was from the moment he had sat down, which could only mean that he had been nervous making conversation with the wife of Lucius Malfoy (or the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange or a scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black). "You are Narcissa Malfoy? It's quite an honor to make your acquaintance, then," he replied guilelessly. Narcissa found herself believing him there, but why would he be happy to see her? "If you forgive my impertinence, I had heard you were beautiful, but I had never expected that you would outshine that praise."

Narcissa found herself giggling at his turn of phrase. She had not heard such nonsense since she had been a schoolgirl! "Why, I do believe your wife would have something to say if she heard you speak in such a way," she chastised him. Oh, he was a charmer. Yes, he was. "May I ask your name so as I may blacken it to her?"

"Of course, my good lady. My friends tend to call me Terry White," he replied goodnaturedly. "And my wife would just be hearing another in a long list of complaints. She finds it vexing, but she is well aware that I have a strange tendency to speak the truth."

Narcissa did not believe him for a second. What he had said made her realize why she was so at ease with him, in collaboration with the rest of his behavior. It may have been unthinkable, but here was living proof the impossible. She wondered if he were the new spy the Death Eaters had gained. It would make sense, especially since Severus apparently had civilized conversations with that man. "I would be loathe to upset her, then," Narcissa nevertheless replied. Now she had to test her theory. "Well, Mr. White, are you from out of town? I was under the impression that the White family chose mainly to live in America or Australia," she mentioned.

White looked generally comfortable with the question, even if he seemed to be a little ill at ease. "Well, my wife is from New York, and we've been living near Washington, D.C., for some years now," he admitted kindly. "I knew I had to send the children to Hogwarts, however. It's one of the best schools in Europe, despite its inability to hold on to a teacher for that Defense Against the Dark Arts class." Narcissa took note of how he said "that Defense". The way he placed emphasis meant he did not mean what she knew he was trying to connote. He approved of the class, just in a different way than Dumbledore. White was earning her respect, even if her surmise were wrong. "My wife and I decided to find work over here to be closer to the children," he continued. Narcissa chose to read the sentence as "While I really wanted to send the kids to Hogwarts, we were worried about the Death Eater activity."

Narcissa also noted a rather important part of what White had tried not to admit. His _wife_ was the White. He took her name. Judging by the fact that they lived in the capital of that country, Narcissa started to wonder if he was a government official. It would fit the theory that he was indeed the new spy from the Department of Mysteries. "So you are British, then? Your accent gives you away, and I am well aware that any native New Englander would have sent his daughter to the Salem Institute," Narcissa mentioned offhandedly, hoping that he would not become suspicious. She did not want guesswork to ruin the conversation.

White smiled embarrassedly. "Well, my wife was rather vocal about sending our daughter there, but I somehow managed to convince her that Hogwarts was the place to be," he replied honestly. Narcissa was astounded by how truthful he seemed to be with her. "To answer your question, however, yes, I grew up here in London. I always loved coming here."

She always had liked the restaurant, too. Furthermore, her suspicion was correct. It _was_ him. He obviously had been hoping that his age was vague enough and his disguise good enough that she would accept that she had just never noticed him in the restaurant before. However, he had failed to remember that, like an elephant, she never forgot. Narcissa decided to continue humoring him; she did not blame him for his secrecy. "It is a beautiful restaurant, isn't it?" she replied, smiling genuinely for the first time in the conversation. "I always loved coming here when I was younger, even when particular younger men tended to flatter me to no end. I never minded it. In fact, I thought it to be endearing. Occasionally annoying yet endearing."

White smiled back at her, and she could tell that while he seemed to be in high spirits, he was obviously worried about whether or not she had realized. As she expected, he switched topics slightly. "Do you still often come here?" he wondered. Narcissa found herself wishing he had brought up novels or Quidditch, like he used to when they stumbled upon a subject he did not wish to speak about. On the bright side, he certainly had not lost his charm. Nor had he shed his old personality or sense of humor. She wondered if the years had been kind to him.

"Occasionally. Draco, my son, hates the food here, much like one of my sisters does, so I do not come as often as I would like to," she replied with a touch of annoyance. It took all of her willpower not to follow the reply with a question guaranteed to scare him off.

"Ah. I can relate. My brother Edmond always acted out when we came here. I half-expected to be banned for life," White sympathized. Narcissa almost reconsidered her conclusion after he mentioned his brother, but she realized that it did fit. Very well, in fact. "I have been trying to talk my wife into coming here for some time, but I do not think I will make much headway on the matter. Her work keeps her from coming here."

"Oh? Where does she work?" Narcissa asked, curious. She had worked, once, but she had found it to be to dull. Watching over Lucius was more than enough, thank you very much.

"At St. Mungo's," he replied hesitantly. "She works in the curse wards."

Narcissa was slightly surprised he admitted that to her; she made no sign of her reaction, of course, but she was a little shocked, nonetheless. "How intriguing. I am under the impression that my husband works, but I am not quite sure where," she replied straight-faced, hoping White would understand that she was trying to lighten the atmosphere.

As hoped, White smiled wryly. "Ah, yes. I remember the life of the noblesse," he mentioned wistfully. Shaking his head, he continued, "In retrospect, I am glad I escaped. Working for a living gave me perspective, allowed me to meet people I otherwise wouldn't have."

"Perspective is a commodity hard to come by in these times," Narcissa agreed. She found his opinion highly interesting, even if she did not necessarily hold with what his views undoubtedly were. Yes, the purebloods were supposed to be higher than the Muggle-borns and all of that, but Narcissa could not particularly say anything one way or another. She had never met a Muggle or given more than the time of day to a Muggle-born. Yes, she had met half-bloods, but they tended to be from incredibly wealthy families or held with the radical pureblood dogma and were thus excused. There might be something to the idea of living in or at least observing the Muggle world or the Wizarding world through the eyes of the Muggle-borns. Not, of course, that Narcissa would ever admit to these opinions. Merlin forbid.

Narcissa started to wonder when White would start talking about the latest book he had read or what was going on in the wonderful world of Quidditch. "So. D'you like Quidditch?" he asked. Oh, retraining him would take _forever_. She could swear trying to do so was like giving orders to a cat. A particularly stubborn cat. Who was obsessed with Quidditch.

"Passably, Mr. White. All the men in my family have a strange fascination with it," Narcissa replied wryly. She decided to humor him and then continued, "But I do follow the Chudley Cannons, if only to attempt to discern how it is they lose so often. I believe that it may have to do with that supposed curse that they always refer to, after they traded away their star player to Puddlemere United. I can never remember the name of it."

"The Curse. Terrible luck, that was. They were set to win the world championships that year, too," White supplied with a sigh. He vehemently continued with a great deal of faith in what he was saying, "They'll find a Seeker, though, that's worthy of breaking the astounding record of losses they have racked up. It will come, and that year, they will win the World Championships without any losses, thereby breaking the curse. And it will be good."

Narcissa refrained from telling him to quit deluding himself, even if she had been doing so since she was fourteen. What she did do was smile and ask, "I take it, then, that you find my lack of faith disturbing?"

She heard him murmur under his breath: "I just had to bring it up with Severus, didn't I?"

Narcissa smiled. She really had missed teasing him.

* * *

Sirius wondered why Artemesia had agreed to go with him to the Three Broomsticks that night. He wasn't complaining, that was for sure, but he was a tad bit confused. Wouldn't this support the rumors going around about the two of them? He still was trying to figure out how word had spread through the castle so quickly, but when he had searched for clues, all he could find were charmed, insulting parchments. He did have to admit the insults _were_ particularly inventive. Sirius knew he needed some expert help on the subject, but he would ask Moony later.

What was important at the moment was that he was eating dinner with Artemesia, and they were making conversation, generally complaining about the hellions they had to teach. Auriga really had been right. Artemesia was currently telling a story about her sixth-years and how they had switched one equation with another, which was apparently amusing. Sirius had given up on Arithmancy after the OWL exam, which he actually did very well on (their teacher had been very dull), and took NEWT-level Divination instead. It was probably his biggest academic mistake, although those naps in sixth and seventh year had been nice. To this day, he still wondered how he had passed the Divination NEWT.

"Have you managed to accumulate any horror stories yet, Sirius?" Artemesia inquired, apparently finished with her own. She was looking at him inquisitively.

He shrugged, grinning. "No, not really, but I'm planning on having all of the classes practice fighting boggarts soon. That ought to be enjoyable," he replied. "Remus said it was a big hit with the current fifth-years, so I can only imagine whatever they come up with now will be rather more entertaining. Plus, I sincerely hope Neville is still afraid of Snape."

Artemesia snorted and shook her head at him. "Sirius, only you," she informed him, not too surprised about his motivation. "What would the use of fighting boggarts be, though? You don't tend to run into them much."

"Unless you're trying to fix up a decrepit old mansion with a crazy house-elf and have a couple spare boggarts to rid yourself of, that is," Sirius mentioned. After all, it was practical experience for students (always a good thing) and free house-cleaning he didn't have to deal with. That, and Sirius did not particularly want a repeat of when he, Remus, and Molly had tried to deal with a rather nasty one in the billiard room shortly before the start of term. The students had less disturbing fears for the boggarts to prey upon.

"Sirius! That's terrible!" Artemesia exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. "Having your students get rid of the dark creatures living in Grimmauld is…"

"Brilliant, is what it is," he protested. "Honestly, though, they're better off knowing what they're afraid of and facing it. If housecleaning or mockery of certain colleagues happens to occur, then that's another good deed done."

Artemesia laughed at that. Sirius could not help but think about how lovely she still was. He knew she would probably never take him back, but he could still dream that maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that there was still a chance he could eventually ask her what he had meant to that Halloween night. He couldn't bring himself to hope she would ever say yes. She had flat-out ignored him back in the kitchens after their stint in the closet. Artemesia's next words brought him back to reality when she commented, "Have you heard what the Ministry's doing? They're sending a liaison to Hogwarts."

Snapping to attention, Sirius demanded, "What did you say? They're assigning someone to Hogwarts to do what, observe classes? Honestly, if they start trying to control the quality of the teaching staff, about half of us will be without jobs by the end of term. I don't mean to imply that anyone's all that bad, but you have to admit Binns should have retired _years_ before he died."

"And Trelawney's just a fake addicted to sherry, but she's _our_ fake with a drinking problem," Artemesia defended their colleague. "I do have to agree about Binns, though."

"Yeah, I was reading a history book once, and I was surprised to learn that it was _actually_ interesting," Sirius mentioned. "Have you ever read up on Muggle history? It's pretty wicked to see how events line up in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds."

"Like how Coca Cola was invented around the same time as Fizzing Whizzbees were?" Artemesia asked wryly.

Sirius paused a moment. "Coca Cola was invented around the same time as Fizzing Whizzbees?" he repeated. He shook his head. This was not what he wanted to be talking about. "What the hell's the Minstry flunky supposed to be doing aside from teaching assessments?" Sirius then wondered, "Do you think that Fudge is trying to put a spy in Hogwarts or something? We're on the same side, but I wouldn't put it past the stupid bureaucrat. He's always been a little wary of Dumbledore. He keeps thinking the headmaster's going to run against him one day."

"I know. It's madness, but what can we do? Fudge made all this official, called it an Educational Decree," Artemesia informed him. "It's the twenty-third. You saved us from the twenty-second one. Otherwise, I'd be having a bitch session with Auriga and maybe some of our other colleagues about that Umbridge twat."

"I do have a vote in the House of Lords, you know. Not that I'll ever show up," Sirius mentioned distractedly, "but I guess I could go and raise hell." He came back to attention and said, "Wait, you mean there is a law that says if Hogwarts can't find a suitable Defense teacher, the Ministry supplies one? Poor kids. They'd be completely unprepared for real life, unless the Ministry was smart enough to get an Auror to teach. We are talking about the Umbridge who put forward the—"

"Werewolf legislation, yes," Artemesia finished for him. She frowned. "The woman doesn't come off as the most accepting person in the world, I'll tell you that. I was on the board that interviewed her when she applied, and let's just say she has a very traditional view on social conduct. Went as far to say Auriga and I were 'scarlet women,' her words."

Sirius spit out his drink. "What was that? Auriga? You?" he repeated, stunned by the revelation. "That's about as ridiculous as saying James and I were perfect angels in school." He furrowed his eyebrows and asked, "What the hell gave her that idea in the first place?"

"Auriga fought with Snape in that way they do. It was sickeningly cute and frightening. By the way, Severus and the word 'cute' should never be in the same sentence together. It perverts the laws of grammar and common sense," Artemesia replied quickly. Sirius made note of how she neglected to mention why she had been called that, but Umbridge might have known about their old relationship. A great many people in the Ministry would have looked at Artemesia in disgust had they known. Sirius would be the first to admit neither the politicians nor bureaucrats had ever really liked him. Umbridge, of course, thought he was still guilty despite the fact that Pettigrew had stood not five meters away from him and confessed that he had sincerely offered to take Veritaserum and damn the consequences. However, viewing a couple of select memories via a Pensive had proved to be enough.

Artemesia had noticed the dark look on Sirius' face. She was about to say something when he noticed her unease and explained, "She voted against me at the trial." He glared at the table and said, "I swear to God and Merlin if she even indirectly insults you, Remus, or Harry, I won't be held responsible for my actions. Say what she wants about me, but I have to draw the line somewhere."

Artemesia snorted. "That's just like you, to go all chivalrous on me about some off-hand comment about my honor," she commented wryly. However, she continued in a dark tone similar to Sirius' own, "But if she does insult Remus just because of his illness, I'll deck her myself. Insulting Auriga, I might just forgive, but only if Auriga drags me away." Grimacing, Artemesia said, "I hope the Ministry doesn't try to discredit what happened by having the _Prophet_ make Harry out to be an attention-seeker. He seems like a nice kid, like Lily. Or an interesting mix of Lily and of James on a good day minus the arrogance."

"James wasn't always that bad," Sirius said quietly, defending his friend. He smiled wanly. "I'd like to say we were different when it was just the four of us, but I think that's when we were most on our guard. We were thick as thieves—there's no doubt about that—but we all tried to hide our shortcomings. Peter was just the worst at it." Sirius laughed bitterly. He just had to get all nostalgic and emotional in front of her, didn't he? If it wasn't Remus… Sirius wished he were talking to his friend, not her. 'Sia didn't need to know how badly he was fairing. Freedom allowed him to think about how much he'd screwed up, not exactly an intelligent pastime for him, to be sure. Thoughts back on the topic at hand, he murmured, "Sometimes I wonder if Peter knew how completely fucked up the rest of us were, he wouldn't have felt as left out. I mean… Well, if James had acknowledged he was wrong once in a while—No. It's not James' fault at all. I was too much of a coward to admit I had problems. All Peter ever saw was my shell. Back then, Remus saw the cracks, but I only ever told James the truth. Pathetic, isn't it? The four of us were supposed to be closer than brothers, and I shut them out. Guess it makes sense that everyone thought I was guilty."

Sirius looked up and noticed Artemesia's expression. No, not her, too. He didn't need her pitying him. "Sirius, you can't blame yourself for everything," she murmured back, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked away from her. Why had he told her? Why couldn't he ever keep his damned mouth shut? What more did it take? He'd been through hell and back, and he was still here, spilling secrets he never wanted anyone to know. Artemesia sighed. "You couldn't have known. Peter always seemed like such a nice guy; there's no way to know when or why he switched sides without asking him," she told him calmly. "Sirius, you're too hard on yourself. What's the greater crime, though: not realizing a friend was a traitor or thinking another is?"

He knew she was trying to cheer him up, but what she said cut to the bone. "I'm guilty of both," Sirius confessed. "Thought it was Remus… Shows how bloody brilliant I was." Artemesia remained silent, and Sirius felt guilty. He had no right to unload his problems on her and then wave off her attempts to cheer him up. Sighing, he apologized, "I'm sorry. You know me. Manic one minute, depressed the next." Sirius smiled half-heartedly and continued, "There's never really a middle, is there?" Artemesia seemed like she was about to protest, but Sirius cut her off and reassured, "Don't. Honestly, it's all right. Least I'm not staring off at walls, you know?"

Artemesia paled and said sternly, "Don't joke about that."

Sirius realized what he had said, what he had unintentionally implied. "I didn't mean it like that," he murmured. He tried to smooth over his error and said nonchalantly, "Weren't we talking about that Umbridge woman's soon to be duties as the thorn in our side at Hogwarts this year?"

"Normally I'd tell you not to change the subject, but I'll make an allowance this once. You're getting off light," Artemesia informed him in an authoritative manner and did return to the former topic, for which Sirius was grateful. "As to Umbridge, I don't particularly know what poweres the 'High Inquisitor' will have. I suppose she'll be like a horrifying cross between a prefect and a government official. Also, she'll probably keep an eye on you."

"I know about that. No way in hell did I expect to escape Ministry scrutiny without Fudge trying to have me fired," Sirius replied. Bitterly, he continued, "Scrimgeour—the bastard—probably put him up to it. Unless Umbridge was even more insistent than I give her credit for." Sirius was surprised to realize how attached to his job he had become.

"She'll have to find one hell of an excuse, Sirius," Artemesia replied honestly. "The students seem to be getting a first-rate education, for once. Your conduct's been nothing but good. Have you given out a detention yet?"

"Well… I've not run into any student after-hours, and the Weasley twins don't count, but I've not had any problems. I actually have the sneaking suspicion that the students suddenly stop doing whatever would get them in trouble when I pass. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, though. I guess my stay in Azkaban did have fringe benefits," Sirius mused.

Artemesia rolled her eyes. "Right. Like students wouldn't stop acting out when Auriga or I walked past them in the halls," she mentioned sarcastically. Sirius was about to mention that he disagreed with that statement, but Artemesia cut him off, "Don't even say it. Besides, I think it's a testament to how much the students respect you that they don't act out. At the very least one of my sixth-year Slytherins is speaking well of you."

"I don't see the point of antagonizing them," Sirius replied before his expression became a wicked grin. "Then again, that doesn't mean I won't accidentally share certain embarrassing stories about certain relatives of certain students to Harry." Artemesia seemed to be of the opinion Sirius's behavior was currently incredibly immature. Well, there was no doubt that he was acting immature at the moment. Sirius grinned and said, "I wonder what Harry and his friends would think of the story about Narcissa, the seventh-year Hufflepuff, and the ketchup. That was priceless and entirely not my fault."

Artemesia shook her head. "You're mad, Sirius Black. Don't you know that your cousin would hear about that? And who do you think she would suspect dared to share that particular anecdote, especially if her son hears about it from Harry Potter?" she asked him, trying to be the voice of reason, but Sirius knew she was at least partially amused imagining the look on Narcissa's face if Draco did ask about the incident. He still expected her to tell him off a bit more, but Artemesia surprised him and said, "Honestly, Sirius, you're slipping. Don't tell _Harry_. Discuss it rather loudly with Auriga when the Weasley twins are nearby. Pretend you don't notice them. The story will be spread throughout Hogwarts by the end of an hour."

"Speaking of spreading word, do you have any clue what those parchments lying around are?" Sirius brought up. "You know, the ones that insult you?"

Artemesia seemed hesitant to reply, as if she was not entirely sure of what to say. Finally, she admitted, "Well, a third-year student told me they are disguises for a list of bets the Weasley twins have decided to start but wouldn't go into much further detail. My informant then turned an interesting shade of pink, which says to me that our brief imprisonment in the broom closet did not go unnoticed. I asked again, and she said something concerning forks, Shakespeare, and You-Know-Who trying to kill Harry again." Sirius knew he looked a little confused; he certainly felt it. Artemesia explained, "Obviously, the papers are charmed so we can't read them. I tried breaking the charms, but they're annoyingly complicated. I swear, the spellwork's almost as ridiculous as the charms you and the other Marauders cast on the wall in the fourth floor corridor during sixth year."

"I know. I've been having trouble breaking the charms, too. Lily could've sliced through the wardings like a warm knife through butter. I think Remus helped them," Sirius admitted. "There was one specific insulting parchment that certainly sounded like him. Snape found that one. Rather original insults, they were, even if the writer sounded like school-era Moony…" He trailed off in realization. Oh, Sirius was going to have some words with them all.

"What is it?" Artemesia asked, curious.

"They copied the Marauder's Map charms. I knew there was something familiar about the magic!" Sirius exclaimed, irritated with himself for not realizing earlier. "They even went as far as to completely copy the charms with our personalities embedded in them!" He shook his head. "Those twins are almost worse than we were," he muttered.

Artemesia looked at him with surprise. "You only now figured that out?" she asked. "Any single one of us teachers could have told you that. Even Snape admits it. But, they'll never break your or James' record for detentions, or manage to double the number of banned items like you did."

"Maybe. Umbridge may start catching them," Sirius pointed out reasonably.

"She may also start assigning _you_ detentions, and you'll make your already epic record something of an even greater myth," Artemesia retorted, trying to suppress the grin threatening to appear on her face. "The Weasley twins would have no choice but to concede victory to you."

Sirius grinned at that. "How is it that no one managed to steal you away while I was gone?" he asked her with a laugh. "Any man with half a brain would find you irresistible."

A shadow passed over Artemesia's face but she realized he was just complimenting her and hadn't expected her to answer the question. She smiled and chastised him jokingly, "Mr. Black! You know better than to ask such private questions of a lady! A scarlet lady, according to Madame Umbridge, but a lady nonetheless! And who said I still liked men? For all you know, I may have sworn off men and devoted my life to God or decided that it was too much effort trying to understand the male mind and sought companionship with those of my own sex."

"Then why can't you take your eyes off me?" Sirius asked her with a sly grin.

"Just because one may appreciate art does not mean one likes it," Artemesia retorted. They both sat there, staring at each other for a moment, before starting to laugh. "Oh, I haven't had such a ridiculous conversation with anyone in years, excepting anything with Auriga," Artemesia said in between the laughter. "And that pick-up line, Sirius? 'Then why can't you keep your eyes off me?' I thought you'd stopped using it in fifth year."

"I'm a little rusty, obviously," Sirius protested, felling a little indignant. "Besides, you left yourself wide open for that remark, Artemesia."

Smiling, she conceded, "Yes, I did. You started it, though." After a moment of stubborn silence, Artemesia continued more seriously, "As to what happened—"

"You don't have to tell me," Sirius quickly interrupted. On one level, he did not want to know. She may have had long-term relationships he really did not want to know about. Or hear about.

"No. It's fine. There hasn't really been anyone; nothing ever worked out," Artemesia told him, sounding frank. "It took me a long time, Sirius, to accept what everyone thought was the truth. I could never reconcile who you were with what you'd supposedly done. I guess that's why I told Mum to go jump off a cliff when she threatened to disown me." She made a wan smile, looking slightly pained, but she shook her head and continued resolutely, "It doesn't matter what happened. I did get on with my life, Sirius, so don't you dare think anything I went through is your fault. You have enough on your plate without worrying about me. There's a war going on. This can wait for later."

Sirius was surprised by what she said but took care to not show it. He then considered a topic she had tried to gloss over. "Your mum disowned you?" he asked. "Why? I thought your mum was one of those reasonable parents I always heard about."

Artemesia rolled her eyes. "She always put on that façade when I brought home a boy, Sirius," she explained patiently. "As to why, it's complicated. Part of it _was_ that I was dating you. She didn't like the idea of me marrying a Black, her being a White and all. The _Romeo and Juliet_ aspect of the whole situation always struck me as so bloody trite."

Sirius nodded distractedly, and then realized that she had indeed said "marry." She seemed to notice that she had said that word as well. Sirius decided he would probably be best off ignoring the word for both their sakes. "Eh, Mum'd've had a coronary if she'd known I was dating you. Probably would've tried to disown me again for dating another blood traitor," he commented lightly, trying to defuse the situation. "Think of all the crockery she would have thrown at me."

"Would she have at least used the good china in her attempt to concuss you?" Artemesia asked wryly, glad he'd managed to make the topic less awkward.

"Nah. She'd have used the porcelain dishes Andy's mum gave her one Christmas. Those were ugly-looking things, I'll have you know," Sirius replied after a moment of contemplation. "She would have only thrown the silver at you. Wouldn't want to start a feud."

"So the prodigal son gets china thrown at him, and his girlfriend gets silver?" Artemesia repeated disbelievingly. She laughed and mentioned, "I shudder to think what would have happened if one of my cousins had been with your brother."

"Oh, she'd have broken out the wedding china for that. Only the best for Regulus, you know. Your cousin would've been on the receiving end of gold cutlery, I can only assume." Sirius paused and added, "In both cases, Dad would've been trying to calm Mum down and saving as much of the porcelain as possible. I think Dad liked you, though. He approved, anyway."

"My dad always liked you, too. He thought you were amusing and, God knows why, responsible. The last time I brought home a boyfriend, Dad blew a gasket. You should have seen it. Hell hath no fury like a father confronting a potential son-in-law," Artemesia said.

Sirius shrugged and replied nonchalantly, "I just have that effect on people."

"Arrogant prat."

"Antisocial digbat."

* * *

Madame Rosmerta continued to dry the ale mugs and tried to ignore the two Hogwarts professors having the _highly intelligent_ conversation on the fine art of name-calling. If she had known better, she would have thought that the scene was more deserving of twenty years prior, when the two had only bickered with one another. Rosmerta was glad that the two seemed to be on good terms, however. Young Mr. Black was rarely this cheerful anymore, to which the rest of the regulars of the Three Broomsticks would readily attest. Rosmerta still remembered the first time those two had run into each other in her tavern. Bickering had indeed ensued, even if they were blissfully unaware they had been making moon-eyes at each other the entire time. She remembered another time when a number of patrons had complained about "that young couple in the corner," including a certain seventh-year student who was highly uncomfortable with public displays of affection, especially those having to do with his elder brother. In any case, the couple's behavior seemed to have regressed to times past. How their relationship would develop, Rosmerta couldn't say, but she certainly wasn't going to bet on it.

* * *

**_Notes_**_: Look! Narcissa! She is blonde and all-knowing! I'm not particularly sure why I have a soft-spot for her, but I don't know why I have a soft spot for a lot of characters I like. It can be kind of inexplicable. Except for Barty Crouch, Jr. He turned Draco into a ferret. That deserves some sort of karmic reward.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Terry ponders life, the universe, and everything, which makes certain Hogwarts professors feel vindictive, vengeful, and/or homicidal._


	16. Those Who Do Not Learn From History

Terry stared in confusion at the piece of paper. It was blank. Gemma had just handed it to him, saying that he needed to take the charms off of it so she could show it to her mother. Apparently Arthur and Molly Weasley's twin boys had started a betting pool about Artemesia and Sirius. Terry was not quite surprised at the development. Sirius and Artemesia were painfully obvious, and the twins apparently delighted in creating havoc. Terry was currently sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It was during classes, and he was waiting to talk to Snape and Dumbledore, who had been unexpectedly detained for the time being. His purpose in visiting was mostly just to say hello and generally irritate Snape, but he was supposed to give Dumbledore an update about the horcrux hunting. In the meantime, Terry had the paper to deal with. It was charmed, and he had a suspicion about the charm. "I, Terry White, who happens not to be a professor yet cannot read the contents of this letter, ask that you reveal your purpose," he said to the paper, feeling like an idiot for talking to an inanimate object. Alas, he had already tried all of the options that did not require talking to the paper. It wrote in reply:

_Mr. Padfoot in turn asks that Mr. White kindly stop sneaking around where his Slytherin self is not welcomed. Furthermore, Mr. Padfoot would like to point out that Mr. White must be quite aged, so it is thus rather sad that such an _advanced_ wizard cannot lift this charm. Mr. Padfoot also wonders why Mr. White is interested in a private letter directed towards the student body, seeing as he is, again, aged and neither a student nor a teacher. Then again, "Mr. White" always was a little snitch._

"Well, you obviously can't figure this out, either," Terry muttered, half to the parchment, half to the absent pain in the ass who had been a teenage horror. "I know you're a parchment, but I resent that, 'Padfoot.' I'll have words with your older self about this later, you know."

_Mr. Padfoot believes that Professor Padfoot is not trying hard enough. Also, Mr. Padfoot believes Professor Padfoot has sold out to the dictatorial regime inherent in the social hierarchy by accepting a position of authority at the very institution he worked so hard to escape._

Terry decided that it would be fitting were this parchment to conveniently fall into the possession of a particular Defense teacher. Of course, he had to inform Snape of the parchment first. Terry figured that Severus would appreciate the schadenfreude. Terry folded the parchment and slipped it into his jacket pocket before heading off to the Headmaster's office, taking a meandering path through the school.

Terry paused in front of a painting of the Four Founders. They were in a battle with the Dark Wizard of their day. Sword in one hand and wand in the other, Gryffindor was rushing off to battle the opposing wizard. Hufflepuff was casting a healing spell on Ravenclaw, who had been badly injured by a curse but was about to rejoin the fray. Slytherin was behind Gryffindor and drawing his sword. The Dark wizard was in full armor and had six cloaked servants at his back with an uncloaked seventh lieutenant. What had struck Terry was that the painting was not brought to life, unlike the vast majority of the other paintings in the castle. The meaning of the painting eluded a grater number of the students for that reason. After all, it could imply Slytherin had betrayed the other three. But was Slytherin instead about to revenge Ravenclaw and fight the seventh lieutenant? For that matter, whose side was the seventh on, anyway? Why was he made to stand out from the others?

"Amazing painting, isn't it?" a voice commented from behind. Terry turned to see Auriga Sinistra. She was looking at Hufflepuff. "They say that this was when Slytherin started down the dark path. I personally don't see it. He's obviously pissed, and that other guy's so going to stab the Dark Lord in the back," she further asserted. "Besides, Ravenclaw was a Seer, wasn't she? The painter would have made her angry instead of determined. I mean, if I was watching one of my best friends was going to betray me, I'd be about as pissed off as Slytherin. Interpretations aside, the painter's attention to the weaponry was a bit obsessive. The swords are pretty wicked, though."

"Except for Slytherin's, you mean," Terry corrected wryly. "It's olain except for that emerald in the hilt. I like the wannabe ringwraith's sword the best, even if it's just a little more decorated. Still, black and silver look good together."

"So you like the useful swords," Sinistra commented. "I don't. Gaudiness, thy name is Gryffindor's sword, but the Dark wizard's is just plain awesome. It's a matter of personal preference." She shrugged nonchalantly and then said, "I'm sorry, but I do believe I've neglected to introduce myself. I'm Auriga Sinistra, the resident astronomy professor."

"Right. I know. You're Artemesia's best friend. I'm married to her cousin Vesta. The name's Terry White," he said, introducing himself.

Auriga looked a tad surprised and gave him a once-over. "You're the infamous Terry? I thought you would be taller," she observed with a suppressed grin. "No matter. It's nice to meet you. Are you visiting Arty? Or do you have business with the Headmaster?"

Terry suddenly wondered if Artemesia had been telling everyone he was fighting Voldemort until he realized that there was no way that Auriga could have known. After all, she could just assume that he had some random reason for talking to the Headmaster. Stranger things had happened, after all, many of them during her tenure at the school. He did wonder what Artemesia had told her friend, judging by Auriga's expression. "I'm here to see Dumbledore," Terry replied goodnaturedly. He really wanted to leave. Oh, yes, it was all well and good talking to Auriga, but the close shave with Narcissa made him realize how easy it was to let his guard down. He took solace in the fact that Narcissa had not seemed to recognize him. Thank God for that. He was nervous about what Narcissa's reaction would have been. God only knew what Auriga thought of him. Supposing of course that she thou… Wait. Hadn't Auriga been a Ravenclaw? Well, a Hufflepuff-like Ravenclaw had to have existed before her. It made a measure of sense. Terry knew from personal experience that Gryffindorish Slytherins were definitely stranger. _Much_ stranger.

"You are aware that you're currently striped red and gold, right?" Auriga mentioned innocently, with an expression to match. "Did you try to argue with the parchments? I did that a couple days ago. Started looking like a human version of lapis lazuli. Severus looked hilarious—he was a rainbow for a couple of days," she informed him casually, a grin starting to form. "Oh, and Artemesia was grey for hours. I think it was a not-so-subtle hint on the part of the manufacturers of the parchment, seeing as Sirius has yet to notice he'd been the exact same color as she was that day. He should honestly stop trying to dispel the charms on the parchments." Auriga held out her hand and asked, "Can I see the one that you tried to converse with?"

Terry shrugged and handed the paper over, requesting, "Please don't erase what's on there. I really want to show this to Sev—uh—Professor Snape."

Auriga scanned the page quickly and was grinning when she got to the end of it. "That's absolutely brilliant!" she exclaimed. "The Weasley twins get better every year at their spellwork. If we're not careful, we may have another set of those Marauders."

"I'm sorry to inform you, but I think they may have copied one of the Marauder's old charms—only 'Mr. Padfoot,' even in parchment form, would dare say that about himself," Terry said. "Honestly, can't you imagine a fifteen-year-old Sirius Black saying that nonsense about taking the job at Hogwarts? I'm frankly amazed he didn't add something about Communism!"

Auriga shook her head solemnly. "No, we must formally present this to Sirius at dinner," she declared slyly. "Not really. He probably has already found a copy." Shrugging, she handed the paper back to Terry and asked, "What did you say to it, though? All I've been able to get, even off of the Weasley twin or Jordan personalities, is something to the effect of 'The Messrs wonder how Professor Sinistra was able to find this sheet and deduce that there is hidden information. The Messrs thought she would be more concerned with star gazing or the stalking of a particular dungeon-dwelling bat creature.'" Auriga amended, "Well, that last part was only off of the Fred/George one. Of course, 'Prongs' expressed his amazement that I was hired due to my unfortunate ability to fall down the moving staircases at least once a year. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but James Potter could be such a prat sometimes."

"Sometimes, Ms. Sinistra? I thought that was how he normally acted?" Terry quipped.

Auriga grinned at Terry and said, "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you knew him, but that's just plain silly. I wonder what stories Arty's been telling you about the Marauders. Really. She must have told you about the time they decided to join the Communist party in fifth year. Lasted a week, that did. There was a rather amusing speech Remus Lupin made about the faculty being the servants of the bourgeoisie and oppressing the proletariat, which was composed of all the students sans the Slytherins, who were, of course, bourgeois pigs." She laughed. "The best part had been when Sirius got the detention instead of Remus! Sirius was so bloody confused."

Terry smiled at the memory. "Wasn't there something about a Slytherin?"

"Ah, right. The kid shouted, 'Vive la révolution!' Showed that they weren't all that bad," Auriga replied fondly. Her eyebrows scrunched up and admitted, "Can't remember who said it, though. The look on the Marauders' faces had been absolutely priceless. I think Minerva and the rest of the faculty thought they had Confunded the poor boy, hence why Sirius got double detentions."

"Must have been good times," Terry agreed, allowing himself to reminisce a bit. Just to be on the safe side, he added, "I bet it was quite the experience attending school here." He felt like he had a weight on his chest. If the war continued much as it had the first time around, he would never be able to tell the truth and say, "Yes, I know. That was one of my favorite days in third year. I don't regret shouting that. Sev had been amused, even if the rest of the House shunned me for a week. Well, Cissy didn't, either, but she, like the rest of her seventh-year friends, thought I was Confunded, so she doesn't count." He wouldn't have minded just admitting he was British instead of lying to everyone. He missed the times when he hadn't been forced to lie, but he hadn't told the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, since he changed his name.

"It was," Auriga replied, referring to Terry's earlier statement. "It's much different being a teacher than a student, though. Oddly enough, there's about the same number of detentions, except for with Sirius and Severus. Now the inverse is true. Sirius gives out none; Severus gives out at least one a week." She shook her head, smiling. "Well, Mr. White, I must be off. Classes to teach and all. Hopefully the little buggers will listen!" she said cheerfully. "Cheers!" Auriga ran off in the direction opposite that of the Astronomy tower. As he continued on his way, Terry started to think the behavior suspicious until he remembered how Auriga took the long way because it amused her, and by "it amused her" he meant she had the directional skills of a directionally-challenged animal on crack and pipeweed simultaneously. His navigation skills when he was Confunded would suffice. Yeah… Good times.

My, he was starting to rely again on sarcasm. That was not a good development. He couldn't act out at the Death Eater meetings. Bellatrix noticed too much, and he would rather not have another private audience with the woman anytime soon. Terry shuddered involuntarily. As usual, the Cruciatus was not the worst thing she had done. To make matters even worse, Bellatrix thought she recognized him, but Terry had his doubts. Her manner of address toward him gave him the feeling she thought he was someone else.

Terry failed again to pay attention to where he was going, but he thought he was better than walking into—Terry looked up to see whom he'd run into. Oh, lovely. It figured.

"White. I didn't expect you to be here," Black commented, an impassive expression on his face. Terry was surprised how closely guarded Black kept his emotions. Black was one of those people who wore his heart on his sleeve and never thought to guard his back. Of course, Pettigrew's betrayal had changed the latter, but a Sirius Black who didn't show his emotions was just plain _wrong_. Terry knew that a lot could change a man, but the façade was a strange new development that Terry couldn't quite reconcile with Sirius's personality.

"I didn't expect to run into you," Terry replied, mirroring Black's tone. He shrugged and explained, "I'm here on business with the Headmaster." As an afterthought, Terry added, "Sorry I ran into you. My head was in the clouds."

Black gave a half-smile and replied, "I know the feeling." Hm. It seemed like there was something bugging him. Terry wondered what was wrong, aside, of course, from having to work out his relationship with Artemesia, managing the Black estate, trying to obtain custody of Potter, and teaching. Shit.

"Under a lot of pressure?" Terry suggested, trying to be sympathetic (but not pitying—that was a quick way to get yourself on Sirius's bad side). "I imagine it must be difficult."

Black stared at him as if confused but thankful. "It's been … hard," he admitted softly. He chuckled and replied, "But I guess it doesn't really compare to what you're doing, huh?"

Terry grimaced and looked away. That was not something he wanted to discuss. Not right now, and not with Black, but… He did not want to ruin relations between them, especially if Terry was ever able to admit to everything. It would be nice to have someone on his side and not just those who supported him because of his actions in the war. Terry finally murmured, "No, you've got it worse. At least I don't have to deal with trying to reconnect with my friends. I just have to stab the Death Eaters in the back and ship them off to Azkaban or send them off to meet their maker."

"All I ask is for you to leave Bellatrix Lestrange to me," Black commented darkly. Terry looked up and noticed how angry Black suddenly seemed as he glared at nothing in particular. "Revenge may be a dish best served cold, but that monster is long overdue in the ninth circle of hell."

Terry remained silent at that. It was better that he not inquire why Sirius said that. He knew lready. Bellatrix would be in the first zone of the ninth circle, and Terry would be in the fourth. He eventually nodded and said, "I'll remember that. I hope you get your revenge."

A little shocked, Black stared at Terry before he realized, "Right. You'd know." Black shook his head. "Man, now I need a drink," he muttered.

Terry felt badly for having reminded Black about all that, but he tried to make amends and said, "I lost my brother in the war, too." Terry almost regretted his confession when he saw the look on Black's face, but he continued, "Granted, I was lucky enough to only hear about it, but the pain never really leaves, you know?" Terry thought better of what he said and apologized, "I'm sorry; you obviously didn't want to talk about this. Ignore me; I'm speaking nonsense anyhow."

"No. It's all right," Black replied sadly. After a moment, he asked, "What was your brother's name?"

Terry was taken aback but answered, "Edmond."

Black gave another half-smile and asked, "Like Dantès?"

Terry returned the smile nervously and confirmed, "Yes, like Dantès."

"That's a rather unfortunate name, White. Granted, it's a damn sight better than Antares, but not by much in terms of symbolism. That said, I can't say my family's much better," Sirius mentioned off-handedly. "Was he on our side or Voldemort's?"

"Ours," Terry replied. "You never met him." He paused, compelled to say more before murmuring, "Not a day goes by that I don't miss him." Wasn't that the truth?

"I know the feeling," Sirius admitted quietly. Terry looked at the former prisoner of Azkaban and wondered how much of the change Terry was noticing was the result of the dread prison. Blacks—even Sirius—would never admit anything like that to just anyone.

"Good thing I can keep a secret, then," Terry said. There was a moment of silence in which they independently decided to end the conversation and go back to their business. "It was nice to see you, Mr. Black. I wouldn't mind running into you again sometime."

Black nodded and wryly replied, "Well, as long as you don't literally run into me, I'm fine with that." He then corrected. "And don't call me Mr. Black. It makes me feel old. Call me Sirius."

"Sure. Well, see you later, then, Sirius," Terry replied. Black smiled and left. Terry felt rather odd. Granted, the conversation had been rather odd, when he thought about it, but Terry still couldn't shake the feeling he had fallen into the Twilight Zone or one of those ironical episodes of _Star Trek_. Then again, if he visited the Ministry of Magic, he could add _Dr. Who_ to the list. At that point, Terry decided that the only thing that would make his day complete was if he managed to run into Snape and had an equally strange conversation with him.

Terry rushed off to the Headmaster's office before the prophecy could fulfill itself.

* * *

Severus wondered what he had done in a previous life to deserve the kind of treatment he received in this one. It wasn't bad enough that his students were nitwits (for the most part), his colleagues were mentally deficient (the Death Eaters, not the Hogwarts staff—those ones were just plain nuts), and his only love interests were either dead or Sinistra, but he had to deal with White. And White's problems. Oh, and Black. You know, just for parallelism. Severus would rather be tutoring Potter in Occlumency.

So. Here he was, sitting at his desk and trying to grade papers, as White tried to make conversation with him. White really was insufferable, except the man's particular brand of annoying was strangely familiar. White was the kind of annoying that recited the Communist Manifesto and wore red for a week because he found one of the Marauder's pranks amusing. "White, I have no time for this idiocy," Severus informed him as he continued to grade the fifth year papers. "Between Sinistra driving me up a wall with her damn matchmaking schemes and Longbottom deciding to Mordor every bloody cauldron he uses this year, I'm at the end of my rope and cannot deal with your inane babble."

White raised an eyebrow. Severus remembered that the annoyance he was associating with White would have caught the ref—Oh, God, Severus was truly going mad. "Mordor? You mean this Longbottom kid goes through cauldrons like a fish drinks water?" White asked, thankfully ignoring the fact that Severus had used the name of a fictional land as a verb. Unfortunately, White continued, "Or do you mean that Longbottom has eight friends with whom he goes off on a journey every potions class to destroy the One Cauldron to Rule Them All in the fires from whence it came?"

"White, shut up before you make an even greater fool of yourself," Severus muttered, trying to refrain from considering how the inanities White uttered were poking fun at him. White was quickly becoming even more aggravating than the Coworker-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. And now he was using the same sort of appellations for Black as most used for Voldemort. Severus had his priorities straight. "For the record, however, I meant that Longbottom has an irritating tendency to synthesize potions so incorrectly his cauldron melts every second class or so," Severus informed White calmly, trying to cease lowering his guard around the idiot. If White wasn't Confunded, he was just annoying, like that particular dead former-Death Eater friend of his who _was_ dead. Severus kept reminding himself he had seen the body at the funeral and had been present when said friend was pleading for his life shortly before Bellatrix had landed the killing blow. Severus had not been able to watch his friend die.

"Ah. Just wanted to make sure, because otherwise we would have had to cast Potter as the future king of Gondor," White replied in the same maddeningly calm manner.

"Please, White, would you leave?" Serverus growled, finally finished with playing nice. It was impossible. Saving this fool's ass at Death Eater meetings was one thing, but dealing with the man out of that context was something completely different.

"I'm hiding from Black," White said as way of explanation for why he was not going to leave. Severus was starting to contemplate murdering White. Then again, he'd dealt with worse before. (_But _Sev,_ you said we were going to take a break from the tutoring! I don't even need it! You know that! I just want to get out of the bloody Slug Club!_) "And, while I am somewhat curious as to whether or not a phone box is going to appear today, I would rather not take the chance."

"Stop fretting about the Doctor appearing, dammit, and leave me the bloody hell alone," Severus said, continuing to grade. It was rather irritating that White was invulnerable to the glares and cold looks that Severus sent his way. If Severus did not know better, he would say White had built up a resistance. Severus furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at White, honestly wondering what was going on in the younger man's head. "Why _are_ you pestering me?" he demanded. In for a penny, in for a pound, after all. Besides, White wasn't going leave anytime soon.

"Well, I came to talk to Dumbledore about Voldemort's … life insurance, we'll call it," White started. Severus raised an eyebrow and decided that he probably did not want to know under any circumstances. Failing to notice Severus' Look of Disbelief, White continued, "So I was walking through Hogwarts when Sinistra happened upon me. We had a rather spacey conversation, if you pardon the expression. Of course, as I was backing away, I ran into Black, which resulted in an awkward conversation. Therefore, the only reasonable explanation is that I am in fact stuck in the Twilight Zone or another science fiction programme." White shuddered before concluding, "That, and the headmaster was acting particularly odd today when I mentioned that we're in deep shit considering the horcrux hidden in Bellatrix's Gringotts vault."

Severus blinked. What in Merlin's name was a horcrux? "You are aware that you defy logic and reason, correct?" Severus inquired. White was certainly acting about as well as Severus expected. A little worse, if he was to be frank. Then again, when did White make sense? Oh, to hell with snide mystery! Giving up, he asked additionally, "And what is a horcrux, pray tell?"

"A piece of a soul stored in a separate item, body, etc.," White explained distractedly, obviously still considering how strange everyone was acting today. Of course, he was completely forgetting how odd he himself was. White blanched, realizing what he had said and then hurriedly added, "Look, Severus, you cannot tell a word of this to anyone. If a single Death Eater discovered what I'm doing, my life is forfeit. In fact, it's probably worse than forfeit. Please, Severus. Shit, I thought this day couldn't get any bloody worse…"

Severus stared at White, who looked pretty damn desperate. In fact, he seemed to be genuinely scared to death. He wasn't "Oh, shit, I just joined the Order of the Phoenix as a spy and have as good as signed my own death warrant" scared but more "Oh, _fuck_! I just screwed over the entire bloody war effort and am going to die in approximately five seconds" scared. Setting down his grading quill (which was red thanks to student idiocy) and looking up to stare at White, Severus put on an expression he hoped looked honest and said, "Look, White. You're annoying, you piss me off, and you're about the worst bloody actor I've ever met. However, Dumbledore trusts you for reasons beyond my comprehension and has obviously entrusted you with whatever this massively important task is. Despite how you refer to the Death Eaters like neither of us are part of that group, I would not tell any of those dipshits about these horcruxes. I'm not doing this because I do not want to watch you be brutally murdered but because I do not want to be Voldemort's lapdog for the rest of my life." Severus chose not to mention Lily, as usual. He came to a realization as he watched White relax marginally. "How many people know about the 'horcruxes'?" Severus asked. If he were right, then he might attempt to be a little less snappish around the man.

"Aside from Voldemort?" White asked with a nervous little laugh before answering the question, "Well, there's me, you, Dumbledore, three or four of my superiors, and my predecessors." White looked pained for a moment and added, "Maybe a house elf, too. I'm not sure if he ever figured it out. I haven't ever dared step foot in that house, much less asked the elf about it…" Jaw set, White shook his head and whispered, "It's not a good history that goes along with finding these things, Severus. Not at all. You know it first hand."

Severus regarded White seriously. Whatever this history was thoroughly disturbed White, who was under the possibly mistaken impression that Severus knew what happened to those who searched for these things. "I take it that this mission to which you have appointed yourself is one that Potter would eventually take up if no one else completes it first?" Severus hazarded.

White nodded sadly and answered Severus' unspoken question, "You knew the men who came before me? They were Wales and Black. I hope you remember the latter at least." White sighed and looked off to the side, saying, "The former didn't have quite so spectacular an execution as Black, but Voldemort still dealt with him personally."

Severus was stunned. Not about Wales; it had been painfully obvious that Wales was up to something. Most had believed he was a spy. The rest thought he was an assassin. Severus had been in the latter group (Malfoy owed him fifty galleons). No, he was surprised because unassuming Regulus Black had been up to something so damned risky. That sort of behavior better fit the boy's brother. Then again, if Severus considered the interrogation, Regulus's unwillingness to speak under torture made a great deal more sense, as did his brush with death in the lake of inferi. "Whatever the horcruxes are, they're damned important, aren't they," Severus stated stonily. "Wales always was a bit unhinged, and Black wasn't one to throw his life away for a lost cause."

White had a dark expression on his face. "As long as a horcrux exists, Voldemort is immortal," he explained bitterly. "He cannot die, but he is not alive. He's not completely human anymore, either. The two problems with this whole quest are that, firstly, he hid the horcruxes well and, secondly, there are only three ways to destroy them—a goblin-forged weapon, fiendfyre, or basilisk venom."

Severus nodded. He now understood to a degree why White had a tendency to act as he did. It all made sense, save one question. "Why are you telling me all this?" he asked.

White winced and murmured, "Because the cat was out of the bag, and all this secrecy has been driving me insane. I just can't take it anymore. That, and, as mad as it sounds, I trust you." He laughed and continued, "It's crazy, I know. You don't have to tell me." White's glamour spells flickered for a moment. Severus considered informing White, but if the problem were caused by emotional duress, then the spells could only malfunction more. White seemed like the type that would stress about the problem, which would cause the problem to worsen.

"On the bright side, you don't need to destroy them where they were made, such as, say, a volcano with a dispiriting name," Snape said flatly. A pause. "Now get out of my office. I have work to do." He resumed grading.

White was unfazed by the abrupt subject change and made to leave, but he stopped. With a quirky smile, he handed Severus a sheet of paper and ordered, "Read the last part."

Severus did. He tried not to smile. He failed. How out of character. He would need to work on that later. "Make sure that falls into Black's hands," Severus in turn ordered grinned and said with a salute, "Yes, sir." After a brief laugh, he asked, "You don't mind if I send it via Malfoy's kid, do you?"

"Go right ahead, White," Severus replied disinterestedly, his irritated look back in place.

White nodded and finally started to leave. Before he closed the door, however, White turned back and said sincerely, "Thanks, Severus, for everything."

"It was nothing. Leave," Severus said, waving it off. After a final nod, White left. Severus shook his head. White gave him such a headache. The man was almost worse than Regulus on a bad day, but White at least had some form of a censor and an iota of self-control. On the bright side, Severus reflected, at least the day could not get any worse. At that point, he remembered Umbridge was due to arrive right about…

"Fuck."

* * *

_**Notes**: All of the previous chapters have been edited for the bazillionth time, so I should be putting them up posthaste. (50 less whiny Artemesia! 99.9 fewer internal continuity errors!) Yep. Thanks for reading, and please review if you've the time._

_**Coming Soon**: The faculty meets Umbridge and Tonks masquerades as a green, trashcan-dwelling Muppet._


	17. Damper Spirits

Auriga wondered how she managed so frequently to find herself in these situations. Not only did she have the absolute worst seat at mealtimes, but she managed _somehow_ to have now acquired the worst of the seats at the faculty meetings. Why? Well, beforehand, she had just been across from Snape. That was not so bad if one ignored the coffee-throwing incidents. Then, there had been the addition of Sirius as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. That was painful for a bit. Auriga really disliked Arty's incessant tapping of her writing utensil when nervous, a state that only Black seemed to be able to bring out in Arty. Now, though, now was hell, absolute hell. Maybe even Hel or Tartarus. Auriga would even go as far to say the Sumerian underworld!

However, Auriga seemed to have gone off-topic in her internal monologue. She concluded in thinking that her horror stemmed from the fact that Dolores Umbridge was presently sitting at the selfsame table that she and her rather demented (aside from Flitwick and McGonagall) coworkers frequented only when it was absolutely necessary, but Umbridge likedit. She actually _liked_ sitting with the highly volatile group. Auriga found that to be simultaneously admirable and disturbing. More the latter than the former, though.

Snape looked positively pissed off. Auriga found perverse pleasure in knowing that Snape's mood had something to do with Arty's cousin-in-law, who Auriga found to be rather charming but had known would irritate Snape to no end. She knew that the younger man would have been stopping by when Terry had slipped and begun to refer to Snape by his first name. Snape was also irritated by the existence of Umbridge and by the fact that the only open seat had been next to him, which meant that—to the great sadness of the rest of the faculty—Umbridge had been required to sit next to Snape. Auriga was trying not to appear too despondent, although she had considered setting the word "Schadenfreude" to the fifth movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony to express her feelings.) Aside from that minor setback and the annoyance at Arty's cousin-in-law, however, Snape actually seemed to be in a good mood. Of course, Auriga supposed he felt like that because she had no doubt in her mind that Terry had shown Snape the parchment. Auriga wondered if Terry had stopped flashing colors yet. The entire faculty seemed to have dispelled all evidence of their attempts to decode the damned pieces of paper.

Artemesia, on the other hand, was seething, and that reaction had everything to do with Umbridge. Auriga did not blame her friend in the least and mentally began running through her list of insults to throw at Umbridge. All she could think of at that moment was "whore-son dog," which was too Shakespearean and of the wrong gender for throwing at Umbridge. Of course, Umbridge had been completely unprofessional at her interview. Honestly, how stupid did you have to be to insult your interviewers? Granted, Arty had been showing Umbridge around the castle as a stalling tactic because they had misplaced Flitwick, but that did not mean that Arty was any less worthy of respect than the rest of the faculty. It had been just Arty's luck that Gemma had decided to come with Arty that day for whatever reason. That girl always managed to charm massive quantities of food out of the house elves. Auriga was supposed to have been keeping an eye on Gemma, but she had been a little busy trying to find Flitwick. Besides, Auriga had figured that a thirteen-year-old could take care of herself. In any case, as Arty had been showing the Ministry stooge around, Gemma had run into Umbridge. Literally. Auriga had applauded her later, after everyone had come to a decision about Umbridge. The unfortunate part was that Umbridge had some very specific ideas about what a family should be and was appalled to hear that not only was Arty unmarried, but she had also had her miscreant child out of wedlock. Said opinion Arty loathe the woman with the fire of a thousand suns. Arty had always been quite the feminist, but Auriga remembered the underlying reason well. Although she frequently acted like a basket-case, Auriga was anything but stupid.

Speaking of part of the underlying reason, Sirius also seemed to despise Umbridge. He was making no attempt even to pretend that he did not dislike her. The feelings seemed to be mutual. Auriga did not expect anything less out of either party. Mr. Antiestablishment and Madame Toady were no doubt going to clash on a number of issues, significant or trivial. Sirius seemed to despise most of the Ministry these days. When they had been younger, he had trusted the government to a degree, but after everything that had happened to him, Auriga was surprised he didn't despise the lot of them. She had never really paid attention to the newspapers, but even she in her bubble had heard about when the DMLE had put Sirius on trial for the murder of his brother. Anyone who had known either of them knew how ridiculous the accusation had been. Auriga had always thought Regulus was a sweet kid. Sure, he had been a little dark, but that had been a function of being in Slytherin when they were in school. She had always considered him to be a bit ditzy and altogether too naïve, but those were characteristics the two of them had had in common. Still, Auriga was amazed that Sirius got on as well as he did with Umbridge. She did not particularly put it past him to snap and challenge the toady to a duel eventually.

As Auriga continued to observe her peers, she noticed that Trelawney was absent and vaguely wondered if Minerva had locked their resident lush in her classroom or if Sibyl had just decided that the stars or cards or whatever excuse the woman was using today said that it would be unwise to venture down to the faculty meeting. Auriga had a terrible idea and wondered what would actually happen if they (they being Auriga and whomever she could rope into it) locked Sibyl and Umbridge in the same room. Her mind's eye provided a scene that involved quite a bit of green light and some skillful acrobatics on Sibyl's part. Auriga noticed that Minerva seemed to heartily dislike Umbridge, but she was masking her feelings much more effectively than the younger faculty members, who all effectively glared at the pink-clad demoness with unveiled dislike, "apathy," disgust, or hatred, respectively. Flitwick seemed impassive on the whole, but that meant that he would rather avoid getting into an argument and was willing to give Umbridge a second chance even after the interview. Sprout was going to play peacemaker regardless, but Auriga knew that it was good that at least one faculty member attempt to do so (again, thoughts of green light filled Auriga's head). Auriga was surprised, however, when she looked to notice Dumbledore's feelings on the matter. He looked impassive. Not crazy-old-coot impassive, but politician impassive. That boded well. Umbridge was going to have a lovely tenure at Hogwarts. Auriga started to hope that Sirius would go back to his old tricks and possibly even recruit the aid of Snape. Then again, that scenario required hell to freeze over, but Auriga could still dream.

Currently, Umbridge herself was in a freakishly pink ladies pantsuit and acting as if she owned the school, which was as far from the truth as possible. The faculty, regardless of their personal feelings for Umbridge, did not approve of the fact that the government had seen fit to send a watch-dog to monitor the school for the entire duration of the year. Internal review had always worked in the past, but the faculty believed that if the government saw fit to send an official to evaluate the school then Fudge should have sent a nonpartisan. Auriga had to grant that Dumbledore had made some poor decisions for Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in the past, but Quirrel had been teaching at Hogwarts for years, Gilderoy Lockheart had been lying to the entire Wizarding world for years, and Crouch had fooled people who had known Moody for years. So, there had been three bad hires in how long? Auriga discounted Snape, who could behave when needed but just chose not to.

Furthermore, High Inquisitor? What in the name of all that is holy was that? Unbidden, Auriga's internal monologue exclaimed, "No one expects the Hogwarts Inquisition! Use… the fluffy pillows!" Auriga started to giggle but restrained herself; the noise came out as a snort. Arty winced, probably wishing her friend was not quite so insane. Auriga privately agreed.

Dumbledore began to speak now that the last of the faculty had joined them. Binns' memory seemed to be going, but only in relation to the faculty meetings. "I am sure that everyone remembers that we have a new addition to the staff," he started. "Madame Dolores Umbridge will be joining us for the remainder of the year in the capacity of the Ministry's newly created position of High Inquisitor." At that point, Auriga heard Sirius mutter what she had been thinking of only moments prior. The very slightly amused version of Snape's Expression of Oh-God-Why-Have-You-Placed-Me-Among-These-Idiots appeared. Auriga expected that it would have just been the plain amused version if anyone but Sirius had muttered what he had. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice what Sirius had said.

Unexpectedly, Umbridge then stood to introduce herself. Dumbledore made no move to stop her, and Auriga realized that the headmaster was attempting to placate her without ceding any real metaphorical territory. As the Pink One spoke, Auriga allowed herself to space out for a bit. Unfortunately, that led to her wondering if any of her coworkers had managed the fine art of sleeping with one's eyes open. She knew that Sirius had achieved the opposite goal of paying attention while appearing to sleep or actually sleeping. He was one of the few who had actually passed the History of Magic OWL without ever taking notes. Auriga also had the feeling that Snape was running through a list of untraceable potions that he could use on Umbridge. That train of thought caused Auriga to wonder if she was coloring all of the apparent feelings of her coworkers with her own opinions.

When Auriga decided to zone back in, Umbridge was saying, "…so throughout the next couple of weeks, I will be sitting in on classes as a function of my Ministry-appointed position. I will require a copy of the current curriculum taught and the topic of that day's discussion in advance." Auriga chose to zone out again. She would make sure she would cover supernovae and black holes that day. Auriga doubted Umbridge would take the hint, but it would make her feel better. If she could swing having Umbridge attend one of the late-night labs, Auriga felt that she could almost live with the plan.

An hour and a half of sheer hell later, Auriga was still sitting in her chair, although by that point she was semi-brain-dead. Arty was the only other still in the room. Apparently, Snape had learned how to fall asleep with his eyes open. Auriga had been forced to kick him under the table when he had failed to respond to a question directed at him about forty-five minutes prior. Sirius had pretended to be taking notes throughout the meeting, but when Auriga had actively tried to read them, they had said things such as "Find leather jacket, pants, etc.," "Make it a practical lecture; possibly boggarts," and "Locate Velvet Underground record." Auriga pitied Umbridge for a moment. Almost. The moment passed very quickly. Sirius had left the meeting as soon as humanly possible. Auriga secretly hoped that Umbridge would examine the NEWT Defense class. Sirius would probably give the Weasley twins free reign that day, and the seventh years would no doubt enjoy watching Umbridge knocked down notch. Auriga knew Sirius could be devious when he wanted to be, even if he still couldn't undo the charm on those prank parchments. On the bright side, he might wear leather pants. Never a bad thing, that.

"Did you know that _douleur_ is French for pain?" Artemesia suddenly asked. Auriga gestured for her to continue. Arty rubbed her temples and explained, "The French Cruciatus sounds almost exactly like Dolores. It's fitting, that's all."

Auriga nodded in understanding. Grimacing, she asked Arty, "Was I imagining things, or does everyone seem to at least somewhat despise Umbridge?" Reflexively, Auriga looked around to make sure that no one else was around. Once she had spoken ill of a teacher when said teacher was in the next room over and was almost positive that said teacher had heard it. Ever since then, Auriga took care to avoid a similar situation.

Arty looked to be thinking and replied, "Well, we know that neither of us like her." She paused, a little unsure as to whether or not she should divulge the next bit of information. "Sirius has a grudge because Umbridge still thinks he's guilty, but I'm not so sure about Severus," Arty admitted and sighed in irritation. "I'm pretty sure that Minerva dislikes her and Sibyl will avoid Umbridge like the plague, but the rest?" She shook her head.

"I hope Umbridge doesn't have the authority to fire any of us," Auriga said concernedly. "I mean, she's no grounds to axe us, but I could see her firing Sibyl with little reservation and maybe even giving Sirius the boot just because he won't respect her."

Arty had a look on her face that showed she had the feeling that would be an interesting confrontation. "He'll only make working with Umbridge so much worse," Arty mentioned tiredly as her expression changed to fit her tone of voice. She then thought of another possibility, which caused Arty to get a goofy look on her face. " 'Course, he might wear those damn leather pants of his…"

Auriga rolled her eyes and retorted, "Please stop undressing him in your head; drool does not become you." Shaking her head, Auriga continued, "Really, Arty, we're not teenagers anymore. Aren't we supposed to be past this kind of behavior?"

"I was not!" Arty hissed, defending herself, looking around just to make sure they were in fact alone. It would have been rather awkward if anyone had overheard that, Auriga had to admit. On the bright side, Arty was blushing, so Auriga had proof Arty was currently less than honest. Arty denied, "Besides, we've decided to not pursue a romantic relationship."

"Right, and I'm Xena, Warrior Princess."

Arty looked at Auriga, probably thinking her friend had lost her mind, and said, "Who?"

"New television show. I'm having my brother tape it for me," Auriga explained. She then narrowed her eyes at her friend and said, "And don't change the subject! Like hell you two aren't heading down that path! You've both been making eyes at each other for the past week!"

Arty sighed exasperatedly and said, "Look, we went out for dinner as friends. Really, Auriga. I don't think anything will happen. We reminisced, but that was about it. He was his usual charming self, complete with annoying flirting."

"He was flirting with you?" Auriga interrupted, her eyes wide as saucers. How could Arty be so blind? Sirius was obviously still in love with her, and she with him, if she was denying it this much. Those two could be so blind sometimes. Hence why she had pitched the idea for that bet to Dorcas and James in their fifth year. Neither of them even realized. For two people who were so smart, they could be such idiots.

"Yes, he was flirting with me, but it was that kind of joking flirting, not flirting flirting," Arty defended. Embarassed, she continued, "Auriga, even if Sirius and I wanted to pursue a relationship, we wouldn't _now_. Later, after the war, maybe, but I'm not under any illusions. We both know what he'll do for the war effort." Laughing nervously, Arty admitted, "I'm not sure if I can go through losing him again, Auriga… That, and with our resident Margaret Thatcher clone, I'm not going to give her reason to fire either of us."

Auriga cringed and said, "Righto." She decided it was best to drop the matter. As much as Auriga loathed to admit it, Arty had a right to feel that way. Auriga also did not put it past Umbridge to recommend firing Sirius and Arty if they behaved in a matter she deemed inappropriate. All the witch needed to do would to have a casual conversation with a certain newspaper reporter, and the _Daily Prophet_ would have a headline that better fit tabloids. Auriga finally said, "Arty, you know, if you change your mind about Sirius, don't let Umbridge stop you. If you keep it clean, then she can't do anything. The worst thing that could happen is a harassment suit, but if Umbridge's goal is to fire Sirius, there's no point, since he's the junior faculty member."

Arty considered Auriga's argument before becoming irritated and demanding, "There isn't a bet set up about us, is there? I swear, Auriga, if there is one, and that's why you're being so damn insistent—"

"No!" Auriga exclaimed. "No, of course not! That's not why! And I didn't make a bet, in any case," she clarified. "I know we all complain about you two, but I just want you to be happy." Auriga grimaced. How could she put this without having Arty ignore her for weeks? "Sirius is a good man, and he obviously cares about you, but I don't know if he'll wait forever. Knowing him, he might, but…"

"If it turns out like that, Auriga, we weren't meant to be together in the first place."

Auriga didn't believe her in the slightest, but she dropped the subject nevertheless.

* * *

Daniel Lovegood was sitting in his office, worrying. The Death Eaters were mobilizing again, according to informants. He had seen neither hide nor hair of Terry White, since the short visit before Luna began school again. Dan knew Terry could blend into the shadows well enough, remain unnoticed, and act completely inconspicuous, but he was acting out and drawing attention to himself. Dan understood why Terry was behaving in that manner. Terry was attempting to create a persona as different from how he once had been as humanly possible. The old Terry had been about as constant as a glacier. He was logical, suppressed his emotions, and generally came off as cold-blooded and unaccepting of failure.

Dan was aware Terry had already met with Dumbledore, so it was acceptable that Terry might have slipped the secret to Severus Snape. As terrible a thought it was, Dan knew the value of a back-up plan. Snape was deep in the organization and probably had a sense of honor and loyalty somewhere underneath his angry-at-the-world persona. Dan hoped so, at least. He wondered if it would be wise to suggest that Terry join the Order of the Phoenix. If he did, then Terry would be better able to formulate contingency plans and have a legitimate excuse to communicate with the Order. The Death Eaters would not be likely to complain about another source of information on the Order. That said, if anyone died as a result information Terry gae to the Death Eaters, then Terry would never forgive himself.

Dan could still recall the entire conversation Terry had had with the first American agent he had made contact with. Dan had been on an assignment that had made no sense at the time when he had overheard the conversation. He had never been surprised that Terry had switched sides. The boy he had known would never have sit idly in the war, and he was not the type to murder ruthlessly no matter how misguided he had been. He wasn't like that thrice-damned Lestrange, but he was like his brother.

Terry was walking a thin line. Even though his behavior was meant to keep the Death Eaters from making a connection between him and his teenaged-self, the strategy was too risky. Terry needed to be more like he had been in the past. Dan did not need to remind Terry of the consequences were Terry found out. He knew what they were.

The day when the Director had spoken to the two of them, Dan had pulled Terry aside afterwards and tried to convince Terry that the Department could have handled the situation without him. Terry was not the only one who could find them, Terry had retorted that he knew what he was doing. Dan had overreacted and demanded if part of his grand, master plan included martyring himself again. Predictably, Terry had lost his temper and shouted that he wasn't an "ickle firstie in need of protection from the big, bad seventh-years anymore, so stop treating me like one, Dan!" He was right; he could take care of himself, but Terry was a fool for rejoining the Death Eaters. He had never been able to cast the Killing Curse in the past, so how could he cope now?

* * *

It was a splendid day for Tonks. Of course, by "splendid" she meant "complete and utter shite that is raining down upon us as I have suddenly died and gone to hell." On the bright side, Sirius was not there to make it worse, because like all older cousins _he_ _would find a way_.. Actually, Sirius would have been a help if he spontaneously appeared out of nowhere. Why? Well, Tonks was wondering how much longer she needed to remain ensconced in the trashcan before checking to see if the Death Eaters had left the alleyway yet. On a lark but mostly to cheer herself up, Tonks turned her hair Oscar the Grouch-green.

Lifting the front of the lid partways, Tonks looked out though the slit between the metal can and its lid to see that, no, the Death Eaters were still present. Bugger. Bugger and hell. She slowly let the lid slip back down. No way could she take all five of them on alone. Where had her backup gone? She heard a scuttling outside the trashcan followed by shouts and _"Crucio!_" which elicited a scream. Tonks was about to spring out of the can in her trash-covered glory when she heard a female voice growl, "You said that Auror girl came down the alleyway, Grey! You sent us down the wrong way so she could escape!"

A man whimpered, breathing shallowly. "She came down this way. I swear," he pleaded. Tonks didn't know if she should feel badly for the man or feel glad that the Death Eater was going to get his just desserts. "She has to still be here! The Anti-Apparation wards are still in place," he continued, sounding a little more frantic.

"Why should I believe you, Grey? Our Lord does not think highly of your loyalty, and I less so," the woman replied. Tonks felt a shiver run down her spine. She did not like this person in the very least. Worse, she had a very strong feeling that it was her aunt, the not-blonde one but the psychopathic one that her mother used in bedtime stories in lieu of the Wicked Witch, who happened to then wear knee-high, lace-up stiletto boots that invariably turned into combat boots when the main character put them on. Tonks still had a lingering curiosity as to what kind of shoes her aunt did wear. The voice broke into her thoughts once more, saying, "Well, Grey? Give me one good reason as to why I should not torture you to my liking then kill you where you lie. I have limited patience, boy."

"I swear on my magic I saw her come down here!" the man whom Tonks supposed was Grey exclaimed. She could imagine him trying and failing to back away from her aunt (in the stiletto boots). He'd be a little beat-up looking, face bloodied. Her idea of him had him somewhere between her and Sirius's ages, looking remarkably like a boy a couple years ahead of her who had been in Slytherin, and dressed in cruddy robes. "Madame Lestrange, I beg of you, believe me! I have no reason to lie! We're on the same side!"

Auntie Bella made a disbelieving sound. Tonks shuddered again. Something bad was coming; she could feel it. Then, the cavalry arrived. The sounds of a scuffle raged outside, and just as Tonks was about to leap from her hiding place to attack her aunt, ended with a second male voice Tonks could not identify shouting, "_Avada kedavra!_" A body hit the pavement.

"We were supposed to take him back to headquarters," a third male voice pointed out rather irritably. Tonks swore she knew it from somewhere. "Now what? Do we continue to look for the pink-haired hooligan or should we leave before the back-up squad this idiot sent for arrives?" Ah. Now Tonks knew. She kind of wish she didn't, though. Trust Snape to hold grudges. She only blew up her cauldron once! Well, fine, the contents turned everyone an interesting shade of fuchsia and had the same effect as a Cheering Charm and shampoo. With better grooming and a sunny disposition, Snape had not been that terrible. Granted, no one could convince Tonks to get within ten feet of her former potions professor, but the point was that… Actually, there was no point, was there? Tonks felt so useless in the trash bin. She also felt rather cowardly, but to tell the truth, she wasn't too keen on committing suicide by proxy, either.

"We are late as it is," Tonks' dumb-blond of an uncle drawled. "Any longer and our Lord will start to be suspicious. Why he wanted us to make this attack is beyond me. That pathetic Auror could never have been a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Our information was obviously wrong." There was probably a pointed glare directed at Snape.

"Are you an idiot?" growled the voice she belatedly identified as Grey's. Tonks was rather surprised by the change in attitude. "When the DMLE finds one of their own dead with no probable cause, it will start to chip away at their morale. Low morale means more mistakes, and slower reaction times. So what if we didn't get the girl? She may be the Order member, but the fear that this random killing will incite will be more beneficial in the long run," the man explained. It sounded as if he had stood. Tonks was slightly disturbed by the fact that the Death Eaters were well aware that she was part of the Order and that said intelligence was acquired by way of one Severus Snape.

"Why is it that you seem to become intelligent only after a good beating?" Bellatrix demanded coolly. "I find it particularly annoying. Maybe we should just beat you at a higher frequency." When Bellatrix had said that, her voice was like cold steel. Tonks was disturbed that Grey did not respond.

"I lowered the Anti-Apparation wards," the fifth person said. "We may leave any time. Would it not be prudent to make it look as if we tortured that bastard before killing him?"

Tonks could just imagine Bellatrix tilting her head to the side before making some gesture to go ahead, which is what had to have happened, since a couple moments later, Tonks heard a flurry of spells. Grey did not seem to have said many of them, but the ones he did say sounded suspiciously like archaic illusion spells. "Rendezvous back at Headquarters," Bellatrix ordered, before Tonks heard five popping noises.

Finally, she sat up straight, wearing the trashcan lid on her head like a hat. As she looked around, she heard another Apparation pop and jumped, causing the lid to clatter down to the pavement. Unfortunately, that meant that she caught a glimpse of her now deceased colleague. She promptly completed her ensemble and turned green.

"Don't worry, it's not half as ghastly as it looks," a comforting voice said to her as Tonks retched outside her trashcan. Tonks, still in the middle of ralphing, turned sharply to face whomever was addressing her and as a result splattered his pants with her undigested lunch. The man looked down at his pants and seemed to be a little amused by the turn of events. Glancing over at the body, his facial expression turned grave. "Miss, you need to get out of here as soon as possible. Bellatrix is coming back to make sure you weren't here," he informed her.

Wiping the barf from her mouth with the back of her hand, Tonks realized, "You're the one she cast the Cruciatus on, aren't you?" He actually looked a bit like the boy she had been thinking about, but he looked to be in his thirties, so he was too old to be the boy she was thinking of. Tonks was of the opinion that too much time in Slytherin seemed to make most of the people in it alike.

Grey winced and replied, "Yes, I am. Look, miss, you don't understand who you're dealing with. If Bellatrix finds you… Please, run. It's for your own good, and before you start feeling guilty, there would have been no point to you trying to save that man. The moment you made a move, Bellatrix or Lucius or Rudolphus—hell, maybe even Snape or I—would have incapacitated you, and you'd be even farther up shit creek without a paddle, if you pardon the expression."

Tonks became indignant, partially because she had read up on each of her incarcerated family members in the Auror files and knew that Bellatrix was unlikely to return, no matter what this man said, and partially because he was ordering her around. "Look here, I know what dear Auntie Bella's like, and I know there wasn't anything I could do without getting myself killed," she declared. "Thanks for the concern, but I don't need any from a Death Eater." A thought struck her, and Tonks said, "And, by the by, you're under arrest!"

Grey gave a half-smile as he surveyed her current status. Tonks was full-aware that she was covered in garbage and very much looked the part of Oscar the Grouch, but she was still an Auror just like he was still a Death Eater. Suddenly, he looked thunderstruck and demanded frantically, "You're Bellatrix's niece, Nymphadora Tonks? The half-blood?" His face had drained of blood. Apparently he was frightened for her. Wait, that didn't make any sense.

"So what if I am?" Tonks demanded, her wand trained on him. "It doesn't matter."

"That's why she wanted to go after you," Grey said, mostly to himself. He looked as if he was working something out in his head. His appearance flickered strangely, and Tonks realized he was wearing a glamour. The face underneath the disguise seemed strangely familiar. She could almost have sworn she knew him, but he looked nothing like anyone she knew. Now that she cared to notice, he looked vaguely familiar even with the glamour. Huh. After pausing and collecting his emotions, the man readdressed Tonks and said, "I realize you've read her file, but Bella makes exceptions to her rules. She always comes back for family, trust me."

"How do I know this isn't a trap?" Tonks demanded. Sure, he was making sense, but he was a Death Eater and therefore not to be trusted. "Even that whole show of her _crucio_-ing you could have been a set up," she pointed out. "Do you really think that I'm that thick?"

"No, I don't, but you can either escape or stay here and wait for Bellatrix to return," he said, glancing over at the dead Auror. "Look, I'm sorry about your friend, but you need to leave. There are things worse than death. Just ask your mother about her cousin."

Tonks narrowed her eyes. "What's Sirius got to do with anything?" she asked.

"Nothing. I mean her other cousin, whom Bellatrix tortured for a week and only killed after she became bored with him," the man replied, visibly nervous. Tonks was even more suspicious. Why would this man have such an intimate knowledge of the last war with Voldemort if he were earnest about his intentions? The Death Eaters would have found him out quickly and killed him, right? The Ministry had gone through something like twenty spies the first time around. "I know you don't trust me, but you have to believe me! Please, Miss Tonks!"

There was a popping noise and the murmuring of another spell. Tonks recognized it as the Anti-Apparation ward. She suddenly felt terrible. The man had been telling the truth. What if the conversation had been a stalling tactic, though? Well, too late to care. She apparated away just before the wizard finished the warding and barely after hearing a couple more apparation pops. Unfortunately, she had apparated herself to one of the last places she'd like to be. Regardless, she stumbled into the house from the street. Just as she imagined that her day was about to improve, she tripped over the damn umbrella stand, which set off her great aunt screaming at her. Why couldn't Sirius ever be around when she needed him? Bloody cousins…

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Memories, both good and bad, as well as a small dose of Bellatrix._


	18. Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

_Sirius stared at the stark white ceiling, wondering if there was some unwritten rule that stated that all ceilings in buildings populated by medical practitioners must be titanium white. He also wondered if all nurses were fussy by definition. Granted, most were giving him a wide berth, but the ones that didn't were overly concerned. He had to admit he had given them good reason, but he wasn't stupid enough to try anything in a hospital._

_James might have disagreed with that, but he was currently standing outside the ward doors, arguing with the doctor. Sirius watched James overreact. Well, this was not the first time he had landed himself in a hospital, but this was the first time James had known Sirius was there for that reason. It may have been the painkillers talking (Blood-Replenishing potion _hurt_), but Sirius did wonder how he had fooled them all for so long. James really believed that "falling down the stairs" bit, but Sirius didn't blame him. Pretending the problem didn't exist made it easier to handle. James' parents, though, they knew. Sirius didn't know how, but they knew. He didn't mind that they felt badly for him. Hell, he was indebted to them for letting him stay and keeping him away from that house._

_Sirius didn't hate his father for doing nothing, and he didn't blame his mother. She just forgot to take her medicine sometimes, so she forgot he was her son and relived arguments long since settled. She thought he was his aunt, who had run off with a pilot during WWII and died of tuberculosis in a Muggle hospital, or she even sometimes mistook him for his father. Her mind switched too easily, so she could go from the woman who he would have willingly claimed as his mother to the hell-bitch who he loathed and despised at the drop of a hat. His father, Sirius knew, had stopped her once, when he had been thirteen, right before she had cast an Unforgiveable on him, but his mother had yelled at his father, calling him all sorts of things. They dueled. Siriushad made a hasty exit to his room and tried not to listen. After that day, Orion Black never interfered again. It had taken him years, but Sirius realized why the year before. His mother thought his father was his uncle Arcturus, who had fought for Grindelwald and died right before the war ended. His father was supposed to have killed him._

_The irony was too much. Regulus was dead, and the Wizengamot thought Sirius had killed him. Arcturus again was dead at the hands of Orion. It was almost poetic. Fuck Oedipus. The Black family was much more inbred, and the overwhelming abundance of fratricide more than made up for the lack of patricide. Wasn't too late for that, either. Sirius wondered why anyone bothered with him. Hell, couldn't they see he wasn't worth it?_

_For some reason, James thought he was. Lily, too, if Sirius was identifying the irritated-looking redhead also yelling at the doctor. He resumed staring at the ceiling. Remaining morbid was a bit tiring, but he didn't have anything better to do. Sirius wondered how long he had been in the damn room anyway. They had barely waited for the coroner's report before starting the trial, and the funeral would have been two days after it ended. The verdict should have been handed out the day he lost track of time, but it didn't matter. He knew what the verdict was. Guilty, just like Scrimgeour had shouted after him. Guilty, like he felt. Guilty, even though he was not the one that metaphorically pulled the trigger. Guilty, because Sirius had just stood there and let Reggie walk out the door to meet his firing squad. Sirius felt even worse because he should have been dead, not his naïve and foolish baby brother._

_Sirius barely noticed that the nurse had realized he was conscious. He didn't even care save for the fact that she was going to make him take more potions. He wondered why they had seen fit to not only give him the antidote to the Veritaserum, the combination of which made his allergic reaction worse, but had then given him the correct potion and vanished a significant fraction of his blood before force-feeding him a Blood-Replenishing potion and repeating the blood-cleaning process._

_Sirius had started to wish he was instead undergoing dialysis after the third repetition. This was the seventh. Why hadn't they had just let him die instead of putting him through the pain? All he had to look forward to was Azkaban, anyway. At least the Wizengamot had forbid the punishments that they once used for fratricide. Of all the options, the one that had honestly frightened Sirius the most was what was referred to in the laws as "The Veil," which everyone in the Aurors knew was a poetic way of saying "random thing in the Department of Mysteries that kills instantly and leaves no body." He didn't want to face the Dementor's Kiss, either. The idea of snogging a dementor was bad enough without the added bonus of knowing that was how they sucked out your soul from your body._

_The nurse helped him sit up in order for him to drink the (admittedly nasty) potions. Sirius decided not to take the painkiller. The nurse looked at him in disbelief before shaking her head. Grimacing, Sirius hazarded the question, "What's the date?" She looked at him pityingly this time and told him that his brother's funeral was the next day, in the morning. Sirius was stunned that he had been admitted only a day and a half ago. Hearing a noise sounding suspiciously like a door slamming, Sirius winced and turned to see James storming over with Lily, who looked mighty displeased. It really was too bad that he couldn't pretend to be asleep anymore. He vaguely wondered when the potion cocktail would kick in._

_"You selfish idiot!" Lily exclaimed. Sirius did not take that as a good sign. Apparently he had winced, because Lily continued, "Yes, that's right! You should feel guilty!" Sirius had the feeling she was referring to his … attempt and not to the rest of it. James was trying to calm Lily down a bit, probably so he could have a turn at yelling at their captive audience. "No, James! I'm not finished," Lily snapped before turning her attention back to said captive audience: "Black, I had hoped you were smarter than this. I really did. I thought that you would know your brother wouldn't have wanted you to do this to yourself. He wouldn't have wanted you to die because of him." Lily calmed down slightly. She seemed to have been venting, because Sirius thought she looked worried under the anger. Lily then continued sympathetically, "He really cared about you, Sirius. He looked up to you. No matter what anyone else says, he probably died because he'd done the right thing. Don't dishonor his memory." She stared at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking before sighing. James looked calmer, as well. Why? Sirius didn't look _that _pathetic, did he? "Have they told you?" Lily finally asked._

_"Yes," he replied, very interested in his sleeve cuff. Sirius didn't want to think about it at all. He would go, of course, but he was not particularly interested in hashing out the entire sequence of events in his mind. Seeing dear cousin Bella was not something he wanted to do at that moment. In fact, he would prefer never to see her ever again. Sirius knew he would probably have to suffer his parents' presences during the funeral, supposing they let him come to the service. He technically should have a seat next to them._

_"So you're going, then?" James broke in hesitantly. He looked concerned, too._

_"Yes," Sirius replied, leaving no room for discussion and pulling at loose threads on his shirt's sleeve. There was no other choice. He had to go to his brother's funeral._

_After a moment of thought, James mentioned, "They found you innocent, Sirius."_

_"Can't try me again. Double jeopardy," he murmured. Lily was frowning at his reaction with pity. Sirius looked up to stare at her. "Don't worry. I'll get over it. I just had a case of temporary insanity," he said, trying to be convincing. He was shite at acting, but he hoped she would accept his excuse. She did not seem to believe him. "Admitting there's something wrong is the first step to fixing it. Right, Lily?" he reminded her. "I'm sorry… God, that doesn't even begin to cover it." Why was he still talking? He should have just quit while he was ahead. "I didn't mean for it to turn out this way. I didn't mean for this to happen," he murmurred. "I didn't want him to leave, but he's always so bloody stubborn, and he never listens. He should have asked for help. He shouldn't have just resigned himself to…"_

_James grimaced and quietly asked, "Sirius, if your roles had been switched, what would you have done? Would you have let him get tangled up in whatever had gone wrong with you? Or would you have done the same as him?"_

_Sirius looked at his friends. James looked, for lack of a better word, serious, and Lily was still concerned. He wished they weren't so upset about him. He wasn't worth it. They should have been angry with him. It was his own fault. They had nothing to feel guilty about. Of course, James was right, and they both had a right to be concerned for him. Hell, he even deserved their pity. He was pitiable, pitiful. Sirius did want to change. He wanted to go back to normal, to just get over it, like he did with everything else. He knew the hope was impossible, but it was nice to dream once in a while._

_"Why were you arguing with the doctors?" Sirius asked._

_James noticed the quick subject change but chose not to comment and replied, "Well, they wouldn't let Remus in because of his furry little problem, they wouldn't let Dorcas in because she makes too much noise, and they wouldn't let Artemesia in because she's currently recuperating downstairs from her ankle being de-boned thanks to a particularly intelligent medwizard-in-training. She managed to twist her ankle when we told her about what happened, but her cousin, who apparently has been temporarily transferred here, made her get it checked out."_

_"Dorcas is still banned from visiting patients in St. Mungo's?" Sirius asked, somewhat surprised. "I thought that was lifted a month ago. Wait. Was that unholy racket last night her?"_

_"Of course. Who else would manage to cause so much chaos accidentally?" Lily asked, looking less stressed now that Sirius was not acting like the seven seals were broken and the trumpets sounded. Well, that was good. At least she was feeling better._

_"…Peter?"_

_James considered and said, "Well, I guess he could, too, but they wouldn't have locked him out of the ward. He visited earlier, when you were still unconscious." James smiled wanly and continued, "Peter was really worried about you, too, Sirius. He's been a little off all week."_

_Sirius grimaced a bit. "I'm kind of worried about Peter," he mentioned quietly. "I think the Death Eaters have been getting to him lately. I know he won't go and do anything rash, but he's just been a little distant recently. Remus, too, but they've been actively recruiting him."_

_"We're all falling apart, Sirius, little by little," Lily agreed in a way. She paused before mentioning, "But I'm certainly not going to let us all fall down."_

_Ashes to ashes…

* * *

_

Sirius glared at the paper. He was well aware that he was currently colored in a variety of interesting shades, tints, and some strange patterns, but he would not concede defeat, not if it was the last thing he did.

He had found this particular sample on a certain fifth-year Slytherin who resembled his mother too much for his own good. Mentally, not physically. In terms of appearance, it was like watching a miniature version of Lucius wandering around. Whatever the case, Sirius had confiscated the parchment after Malfoy had taken it out of his bag to take notes. He had noticed what it was, even if Malfoy hadn't until it was too late. Sirius had not been so cruel as to deduct points from Slytherin House, but he had not put his cousin's son on the spot. He made sure not to antagonize the kid, though. Sirius had tried to make the damn parchment show what it was hiding, causing him to turn green and silver, which was rather annoying. Said parchment then also insulted his mother, among other things. Then, all of a sudden, the parchment personality had stopped and written, _Wait. You aren't Mr. White, are you?_ Sirius had shook his head in disbelief and then continued class as usual.

This parchment was a new variety. Sirius had started to collect them all after he realized that there were multiple versions, figuring he might be able to convince one to reveal what they hid. For instance, the Forge/Gred Parchment turned whomever tried to break into it red and gold. The Moony Manuscript (yes, Sirius had named them) turned people shades of purple with bright sparkles and, as Remus had been apt to do, use Shakespearean or Pythonesque insults. The Prongs Paper insisted on turning him the color and pattern of McGonagall's tartan. Somehow, whomever had made the damn parchments (Sirius strongly suspected Fred and George) had also managed to create something of an abomination. The Snape Sheet was eerily true-to-life, but it simply turned your clothes black and your hair greasy. Sirius had since discovered he had the only copy endowed with Snape's personality. This new parchment, though, was a mystery. Sirius swore he recognized the writing style.

So, he sat in his office, trying to classify this strange, new parchment that saw fit to turn him every color of the rainbow and some that didn't exist yet, along, of course, with stripes, polka dots, and plaid. Finally, Sirius tried, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good?"

Writing danced across the page: _Nice try, but this is not the Marauder's Map._ Sirius wondered if that meant that this personality knew of the map or if it was one of the manufacturers. It could have been a variation on James; he had always had a penchant for being unpredictable. Then again, Sirius had a feeling that underneath all the respectability Hermione had a rather wicked side, but the parchment did not sound like her, or Harry or Ron, for that matter. "Am I going to have to resort to using ward-breaking charms?" Sirius wondered.

_Highly likely,_ the parchment wrote back. _No professor (I know what you are) is going to read this letter for as long as I'm here. Unless, of course, you say the magic words!_

Sirius rolled his eyes. Great. Definitely going to be a difficult one this time. "Oh, really? How clever of you to say that. 'Say the magic words,' " Sirius replied.

_Of course I'm clever. …You aren't Snivellus, are you? No, not enough sarcasm. Who are you?_ the parchment asked, surprising Sirius a little. He decided to humor the parchment and said, "I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. What did they think was funny?"

Sirius considered that he might have had an auditory hallucination, but he swore that the parchment gasped in horror. It proceeded to explain itself: _Professor Padfoot! You are guilty of breaking all of the tenets of the Marauder Code! It's deplorable! You are supporting not only the bourgeoisie but the dictatorial regime of the government! Only Mr. Moony is acceptable as a professor, hence why he was referred to as Professor Moony when the mood struck. Also, Professor Padfoot should be ashamed that he does not recognize the little Slytherin snitch. In addition, it is sad and pathetic if Professor Padfoot is still pining away after the fair goddess of the hunt. Professor Padfoot should have caught her long ago but crying over spilt milk never got him anywhere. Furthermore, Defense Against the Dark Arts? What is Professor Padfoot going to do next year? Show up for the House of Lords? The shame, the shame!_

Sirius started to despise this parchment. Whoever the personality was in real life he was going to deck, regardless. He would honestly even go as far to dig them out of the ground and bring whoever it was back to life just so he could yell at them. Then again, Dorcas would have said "woe" quite a bit more. "Is that you, Dorcas? Or am I speaking to another of the _dearly_ departed?" Sirius asked the parchment sarcastically.

The parchment would have stared at him if it could have and wrote, _No, I am not the Kangaroo. Obviously we have departed, though, as we seem to have lost our mind. Ergo, Mr. Padfoot finds Professor Padfoot to have lost his mind in these twenty intervening years._

Sirius stared at the parchment. This gave self-loathing a whole new meaning. Then again, it did make sense that he was the one that had turned him all sorts of colors. Sirius found himself not wanting to know what White had said to it.

Writing began to appear again on the parchment: _Mr. Padfoot was wondering, however, if Professor Padfoot ever did happen to successfully woo the fair lady Artemesia?_

After staring at the sentence for a moment, Sirius decided that he didn't have to take this and left the room, making sure to lock the office door behind him, so he did not read the next part, which said, _I'll take that as a yes, and I obviously shouldn't have brought it up as it seems to have not worked out._ Luckily, classes were over for the day, so he decided to take a quick trip to the Three Broomsticks. Taking the long way into town, Sirius had enough time to plot revenge against White, who had obviously planted the paper for Sirius to find. Grumbling, he wandered into the Three Broomsticks to the sight of a green-looking Tonks sitting at one of the tables, looking more confused than usual. Well, the confusion was different from normal. She actually seemed puzzled about something.

Sitting down across from her, Sirius asked, "So, how are you?" It would take his mind off of his own problems, i.e. the fact that his fifteen-year-old self had been hell on wheels and was now incarnated in a parchment for his own insulting pleasure and his complete failure of a love-life, not to mention there was a war going on.

Tonks turned from her blank staring at the window to look at him. "There is a suicidal Death Eater we need to recruit," she informed him impassively before taking a drink of her butterbeer. "He's about my height, looks Slytherin-ish, acts like he's just asking to be martyred."

"So you've met Terry White, then?" Sirius concluded. The news was bad, judging from the look on Tonks' face. They must have run into each other in the middle of a battle. Otherwise, Tonks would not have called White a Death Eater. "What's the crisis of the day, then? Did he let you go or something?" Sirius asked.

Tonks stared at him in shock. "How did you know? No, never mind, that was stock dialogue," she said and continued more reservedly, "No, Sirius. I, uh, I was chased down an alleyway while I and some colleagues were in a fight with some Death Eaters. It was a dead-end, so I hid. White, as you call him, told Auntie Bella—" Tonks spit the name out as if it were a curse. "—that I was in the alley. When they couldn't find me, Bellatrix _crucio­_'d him for 'lying.' After that, they killed Brian and apparated away. White—they called him Grey, by the way—then came back to warn me to leave because Bellatrix always comes back for family. When I heard Rudolphus Lestrange casting a new Anti-apparation ward, I believed White and left. There wasn't any time left for him to run."

Sirius grimaced. He liked White, annoying though he could be. White seemed intelligent enough not to blow his cover, even if he seemed to be a little clumsy and outspoken. He was a nice young man, and Sirius would insist that White did not have it in him to be a Death Eater. "Well, we can only hope that he managed to convince Bellatrix that he had come back early to stall you," Sirius decided, studying his cousin. Tonks looked like death warmed over and seemed scared out of her wits. She needed far more than a butterbeer. "Nymphadora, you look terrible. Are you sure you don't want to go back to your flat and relax?" Sirius asked her, concerned.

"I'm supposed to be at my flat," Tonks admitted, ignoring the use of her first name, which indicated to Sirius that she was definitely not feeling well. She actually looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown. "Kingsley sent me home after what happened. I just couldn't stay there, though, so I came here," she continued, concentrating intently on her drink.

Sirius put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. "It's going to be all right, 'Dora," he murmured, having realized that this incident was in all likelihood the first in which someone she knew had been killed. "It'll be all right." He felt like saying something more, but no words would come. Finally, he decided just to ask, "Is there anything I can do?"

Tonks sniffed and shook her head. "No," she replied quietly as her hair faded from neon to a dampened color of dark green. "I think I'm just going to stay here and drink myself into oblivion," she continued, pensively considering her butterbeer, " 'though I'm not too sure if you can drink yourself into oblivion with butterbeer…"

Well, this was a subject that Sirius was well-versed in. "Tried it once. Didn't work out too well," he informed her. Maybe trying to cheer her up via distractions was a better course of action. "Actually, it's the reason I stopped drinking vast quantities of butterbeer in one sitting. I wouldn't eat real butter for a week afterward," Sirius explained, starting to think about that Hogsmead weekend in seventh year.

Tonks stared at him like he was mad, but her hair was now more of a viridian than a forest green color. On the bright side, she was cheering up a bit. Ah, inane conversation. Always worked. Seemingly getting over her surprise, Tonks said, "You actually tried to get drunk off butterbeer? It has little to no alcohol content! What exactly did you learn when you were in school?"

Sirius paused to remember all the good times and the better times. After a moment's hesitation, he answered, "Well, we learned not to run around the halls shouting, 'The Nazgûl are coming! The Nazgûl are coming! Run for your lives!' and that having a best friend with a furry little problem is conducive to learning advanced transfiguration and the fine art of lying well… Then there was the mapmaking independent study and the self-taught surprise-attack planning. Oh, and we also went to class. Muggle Studies was funny." Maybe he had embellished a bit, but it was all in the name of helping Tonks feel better.

Tonks may or may not have realized what Sirius was doing, but she decided to play along (her hair was now more emerald than viridian). Sirius vaguely wondered when he learned to differentiate between particular colors of green. In any case, she asked, "What about Muggle Studies? I know it was an easy O, at least for those of us who grew up with it. Sure, every Muggle-born considered it a joke, but wouldn't you have actually been learning something?"

Sirius grinned and replied, "Nah. Your mother was incredibly lax whenever she had to babysit us, which of course led to me reading most everything Arthur Conan Doyle wrote. She also used to take us out to the cinema. You know, Narcissa _loves_ Disney movies, even if she'll never admit it. According to your mother, she was particularly taken with _The Sword in the Stone_ and _Mary Poppins_. In any case, we knew far more than you would have expected." Thinking about his experiences in the class itself, Sirius continued after laughing a bit, "Oh, God, it used to crack me up every time someone mispronounced electricity or telephone. I could never forget the infamous sex-ed lecture, either. Damn, Smyth lost control of us that day. Never could sit through that class with a straight face ever again."

Tonks shook her head and complained in good humor, "Of all the tangents we could have gone off on, you start talking about the most awkward class in the history of Hogwarts! Geez." She shook her head in mock disbelief before asking, quite seriously, "Anyway, so my aunt likes Disney films? It's—it's—I don't know what it is, but it's something! Something disturbing!"

Smiling, Sirius shrugged and admitted, "Well, I was always partial to the spaghetti westerns, and Reg—" He looked a little melancholy for a moment before recovering and continuing, "Well, there was a reason that your mother refers to her elder sister as Sauron."

Tonks' eyes widened and she exclaimed, "You mean that your brother was the one that started calling Bellatrix Sauron? I thought Mum started doing that after she left!"

Sirius shrugged. "When Bellatrix married Rudolphus, your mother had the great idea to call him the Witch King of Angmar to match. Reg thought it was hilarious and occasionally called Rudolphus that to his face," he said. Smiling sadly, Sirius continued, "Reg never could keep his mouth shut."

"I remember when he came by once," Tonks mentioned thoughtfully. It seemed like she felt like she was treading on eggshells. Judging by how Sirius tended to react whenever someone mentioned his brother, he didn't blame anyone for acting like that. "I liked him, but that may have been because he was dressed like a punk and had blue hair at the time. That, and he humored me when I demanded that we play 'Save the Princess,' which I am sure you remember. He was the sidekick, and I was the prince. I didn't think he'd make a good dragon."

"No, you reserved that honor for whatever I transfigured into a dragon," Sirius mentioned pointedly, grinning. "Except for that one time when Remus came, too. You made him the prince, James the wandering yet useless bard, Peter the horse, and me the dragon. I have no clue how you roped us into that," Sirius mused, remembering the mad outfits James had transfigured for them. "That is the only time I remember you being the princess. Of course, then you decided that I was actually even more useless than James and had been turned into a dragon by the evil lord of the fortress. You shortly thereafter turned me back into said more useless wanderer and declared you were the only one who knew the safe way out of the hidden fortress."

"No, it was my 'useless older cousin who was stupid enough to annoy my evil Aunt Sauron,'" Tonks corrected. She smiled and said, "I can't believe you still remember that."

"It was kind of hard to forget, Tonks. I'll never forget the look on Remus' face when you said that you had to get married now that he'd defeated the evil lord," Sirius reminded her. A wicked grin suddenly graced his features, and he continued, "Actually, I think I'm going to remind Remus of that." Tonks suddenly looked massively indignant. Sirius decided that his work there was done. Now all he had to do was avoid Tonks' well-aimed retribution…

Good thing he had practice dodging thrown bottles of butterbeer.

On his way out of the Three Broomsticks, Sirius noticed that a couple of students were present. They looked completely confused and were somewhat stunned that their teacher was being attacked by an Auror with bright green hair. He stopped, and, instead of scolding them for sneaking out or giving them a proper explanation as to why their DADA teacher was dodging projectiles, Sirius explained simply, "There can be only one."

"Stop making film references and fight me like a man!" Tonks shouted at him.

"Nah. I've got to go back to work. If you're really worried, then go distract Remus while I send him an owl," Sirius called back after her, even though he had no intention of reminding Remus of the anecdote. Tonks suddenly looked rather flustered and ran over to the fireplace. "Later, Tonks," Sirius said as he watched her leave and wondered how Remus would react. He hoped that they would make some progress. Sirius highly doubted it, but he could hope. Besides, Tonks always had had a crush on Remus, and although he felt guilty about it, Remus obviously liked Tonks. Therefore, Sirius felt perfectly justified in taking this course of action.

* * *

Terry White was well aware he was in deep shit. Bellatrix had just finished punishing him for "scaring Andy's little brat away." He was glad she had drawn her own conclusions and bought his explanation. She was about to leave Terry to go and lick his wounds. Wiping the blood from his mouth, Terry froze as Bellatrix said detachedly, "That was odd." Terry tried to remain calm and was again thankful that she could not read his mind. Narrowing her eyes, she realized angrily, "You are covered in high-level illusion spells!" She strode back toward him from the door and shoved him against the wall.

Terry raised his chin a couple of degrees and said calmly, "I was badly scarred in the last war. I never thought to dispel the illusions, especially since my colleagues would find it strange that I suddenly stopped trying to hide my scars." Unfortunately, his explanation was not heeded, and Bellatrix spat out, "_Finite incantatum_." Terry waited for her to say what he dreaded and hoped at least this time she would kill him properly.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and growled, "You're that Half-blood, White! How dare you lie to the Dark Lord! You're the aide to that Mudblood ambassador!"

Terry relaxed marginally. She did not know. "Did you really think that I would be using my real name, Madame Lestrange?" he asked her, deciding to let her draw her own conclusions about which name was his real one. "After all, I work for the Department of Mysteries. Lying for my country is my trade," he explained to her coldly in order to cover his relief. "What does it matter what alias I assume?"

"Everything," Bellatrix replied harshly. "You must be a fool, boy, to think that… I assume you will be a Black the next time you adopt a new name? As if my family would ever have had filth such as you darken our doorstep," Bellatrix continued irately, looking disgusted.

"What a lovely thing to say," Terry replied calmly, waiting for Bellatrix resume torturing him. He did not look forward to the discussion with Voldemort.

* * *

_**Notes**: Sorry for the late update. My schedule this year is crazy as hell. 2 labs + Japanese not conducive to the free time thing. Um, I may make the decision to update once a month again, which I know is madness, but my progress with the fic in general is not going well right now. I mean, I'm about fifteen chapters ahead of this right now, but I want to keep a six-month buffer. Yeah... I dunno._

_**Coming soon**: Sirius Black fails at watching Terry White; Remus Lupin doesn't fail at research; Hermione is confused._


	19. Is He In Heaven? Is He In Hell?

Terry was leaning against the wall in a Hogwarts corridor. It was a mistake, but he had made a beeline for Black's office. So. There he was. Terry vaguely hoped he was not dripping blood all over the floor. He didn't want to make a mess…

Sirius had found White lying unconscious in the corridor in a puddle of blood. Being a rational human being, he had stood there for a few moments, wondering if he had suddenly fallen down a rabbit hole or if this was the final proof that the last fifteen years had been a dream and he was really asleep in his bed and was eventally going to wake up to discover that James and Lily were still alive and Peter was still hidden away and not the Maurauders' own personal Judas. Then Sirius' irrational self kicked in and informed him that there was a man bleeding to death in the hallway and that he should take him to the Hospital Wing.

There Sirius was, then, sitting in the hospital wing next to the slightly mad, formerly dark wizard with a death wish, Sirius started to wonder what the hell had happened to White. The younger man's appearance was a bit different than from the last time he had seen him. White's skin was a bit paler, and his face was crisscrossed with scars. The man's hair was shot through with grey that must have been masked by an illusion spell, probably a glamour. On White's left arm, however, was the Dark Mark. There were scars running over it as well. From what Sirius had noticed from when Madame Pomfrey had patched White up, the rest of the younger man's body was similarly abused. Sirius could tell Bellatrix had a hand in all of it. The wounds were characteristic of her. She also had a penchant for killing people through blood loss.

White's eyes flickered open. They were a different color from before. Now they were grey, instead of the dark brown they had been the last time Sirius had seen him. Sirius realized that this was most likely what White's true appearance. The changes White had made between the appearance he presented with magic and his real appearance were subtle, but Sirius hadn't recognized him for a long moment. White groaned and asked groggily, "Where am I?"

"The Hospital Wing," Sirius replied flatly. He liked White, don't get him wrong, but some answers were rather obvious. After all, White had fallen unconscious in Hogwarts, which had its own medwitch. Therefore, he would in all likelihood be taken to the Hospital Wing were he to be found bleeding to death.

"Did I fall off my broom again?" White asked, still a tad out of it. His eyes were a bit unfocussed, and it was obvious that he was struggling to stay conscious. He must have noticed that Sirius was staring at him rather confusedly, because White then continued just as groggily, "Sirius? What's going on? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sirius was somewhat at a loss as to how to reply to that. White was behaving as if he had known Sirius when they were at school, but Sirius had no recollection of the younger man whatsoever. Maybe White had mistaken Sirius for someone else, and White's mind had just supplied his name because he happened to be the one actually sitting there. "What's the last thing you remember?" Sirius asked. He did not want to deal with an amnesiac right now.

White seemed to be thinking for a moment before he answered with his speech slightly slurred, "Quidditch match. Slyth'rin versus Gryff'nd'r." He closed his eyes and seemed to go back to sleep. However, White's face suddenly acquired a confused expression as he amended much more clearly, "No. Bella was killing innocent people. I was trying not to watch. Didn't want to know what was going on. You wouldn't understand." He opened his eyes and looked back at Sirius. White's gaze focused, and seeming to come out of his stupor, he quickly sat up in the hospital bed. White demanded, "Did I tell you?" After a pause, he reiterated, "What did I tell you?" White looked slightly frantic, and Sirius felt badly. He was slightly disturbed that whatever White was trying to ask about was that important.

Sirius shook his head. "You didn't say anything particularly interesting, save for the fact that you're an alumnus of the school," he replied, trying to process the information. He was also running through the list of Slytherins who had been on the Quidditch team during his tenure at the school. No one in particular was coming to mind. Then again, the entire speech could have been a result of the painkillers running amuck in the younger man's head. Sirius continued, "You also mentioned Bellatrix Lestrange and her favorite activity. As I said, nothing much."

White looked confused, but Sirius had a feeling that he wasn't. Instead, Sirius thought White was looking for a way to explain himself instead. He was definitely a Slytherin. Annoying behavior, that. With a sigh of relief, White apologized, "I'm sorry. It's been a rough day. Bellatrix wasn't exactly gentle." With a rather pathetic laugh, he continued, "Oh, and sorry about the mess with the blood. Filch is going to go mad about it, isn't he?"

Sirius decided to forgive White his odd behavior, and replied, "No, don't worry. I cleaned it up when Madame Pomfrey chased me out of here the first time." Sirius contemplated whether or not he should ask how White had managed to get himself in such a right state. He decided to continue, "What happened to you? Was it all Bellatrix?"

White let out a curt laugh that looked like it hurt. "That's quite the assumption, Black," White mentioned quietly, "that Lestrange would let any other kick the shite out of me like this." Wincing, he gently lowered himself down onto the bed. "But, no, it wasn't. Voldemort was really pissed off. More than usual, at least," White answered. "Oh, God," he said, rather distressed, as if he had just remembered something incredibly important. "They know…"

Sirius tilted his head to the side and asked concernedly, "Know what? That you're Antares White? The illusion spells are gone, so I could only assume."

White looked at Sirius in disbelief, which caused Sirius to wonder what exactly it was that he said that was so unbelievable. However, White replied stiffly, "Yes. Bellatrix recognized me as Antares White and now knows that I'm not Terrence Wales as she supposed I was." Sighing frustratedly, he explained, "Now they know how to blackmail me into obeying them. This was just what I wanted to avoid! God damn it all to hell!"

"Shit," Sirius murmured in agreement, thinking. It was certainly terrible that Bellatrix knew who White was now. The man's wife was probably now in grave danger due to the fact that Bellatrix held nothing sacred. Well, she probably held some things sacred; torture, for example. Pausing, Sirius wondered out-loud, "Who's Terrence Wales?"

"One of my predecessors," White explained distractedly, waving it off. Sirius could tell that White was incredibly worried, but what else was new? Actually, White was starting to look serious and calculating, as opposed to his permanent state of anxiety. White continued to explain in the same manner, "Bellatrix murdered him, but she meant to leave him alive. Some potions interacted with each other and poisoned him."

Sirius was about to ask more when Madame Pomfrey walked back into the room and said, "Professor Black, I do hope that you aren't distressing my patient." Sirius cringed, but he noticed that White had frozen when Madame Pomfrey had spoken. He looked anxiety-ridden again. Pomfrey noticed that White was conscious once more and said sternly, "And you! I hope you are not overexerting yourself already, Mr—"

"White!" White almost squeaked as he interrupted Pomfrey. After clearing his throat, he repeated, "I'm sorry for interrupting, but my name's Terry White." He looked rather sheepish yet scared out of his wits. Sirius wondered why White would be more afraid of Madame Pomfrey than Death Eaters. Sirius then took the time to remember that all Hogwarts alumni knew never to cross the resident medwitch, even with good reason.

Madame Pomfrey stared at White incredulously for a moment before glancing at Sirius with a raised eyebrow before replying, "Whatever you say, Mr. White." Clearing her throat, she glared at Sirius and ordered, "Now shoo. I do not think that Mr. White would appreciate an audience. Why don't you go find something to occupy yourself with? A good book, for instance?"

White was about to say something, presumably, "I don't mind," but Sirius said first, "It's all right. I'll leave." Turning to White, he asked nonchalantly, "Do you want me to get you anything from the library?" Pausing, Sirius considered telling him that he would be willing to even go off to White's flat to pick up anything he needed, but Sirius realized that the Death Eaters would probably have it under surveillance by that point.

White seemed to consider what Sirius was saying and replied hesitantly, "Could you see if the library has _The Great Gatsby_ or _The Odyssey_?" To Sirius, White looked rather embarrassed about what he read in his free time. Sirius just thanked God that White hadn't asked for anything by Tolkien. White continued, "Or, if neither are there, maybe _The Silmaril_—" Seeing the look on Sirius' face, White recanted, "Never mind. Thanks, regardless."

Madame Pomfrey seemed to have an amused look on her face, but Sirius was unsure. As much as he had been in the Hospital Wing as a teenager, he had never been able to read Madame Pomfrey's emotions. "Right," he said to White, smiling a bit. "Well, I'll go see if they have either of those." White looked grateful, and Sirius said jauntily to Pomfrey, "See you soon." She rolled her eyes, and Sirius headed off to the library.

* * *

Remus Lupin had decided that day to visit Hogwarts to search the Restricted Section for a book referenced in the marginal notes of a conspicuously misshelved book in the Black family library. The writer had obviously been onto something important, and Remus had informed Dumbledore of it, concurrently asking permission to pursue the lead. Of course, this also gave him the great opportunity to check up on Sirius, who was avoiding him, as Remus was well aware. Actually, Sirius just seemed to be avoiding most everyone.

In any case, Remus was sitting at one of the tables in the library near the fiction section. All of the books that may have been the one indicated by the margin note spread out on the table around him. He was currently taking notes on one of the books to compare to later. Some of his former students had dropped by to say hello, which surprised him. Granted, if Sirius knew about that, he would be rather frustrated with Remus for "letting his guilt complex override his common sense, yet again." Now if that wasn't a case of the pot calling the kettle black, Remus didn't know what was. Sirius was one to talk.

From what research Remus had already completed, the person who had been scribbling in the margins had discovered something that was looking to be more and more crucial as Remus continued. He was slightly disturbed to find information on magic that could affect a soul like the Dementors's Kiss, except that the magic only removed a shard of one's soul. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could connect the research to the current situation. Slightly discouraged, Remus did consider that maybe the scribblings were decades if not centuries old. Thankfully, his search was yielding results. Remus looked at his watch. It was around eight at night, much earlier than he would have expected it to be.

Continuing to work, Remus noticed out of the corner of his eye that there was someone currently browsing the Muggle novel section. The portion closest to Remus was near the end of the alphabet. He smiled a bit, remembering a particular day back in sixth year when Sirius (cursing all the while) had searched for a particular book to read to a particular Seeker whom said idiot Beater had managed to put in the Hospital Wing. The most amusing part of the whole thing had been when all the girls wouldn't leave Sirius alone for upwards of a week because they thought it was incredibly sweet how he had apologized to the Seeker for the bludger to the head.

Remus straightened and blinked a couple of times before grinning. Chuckling to himself, he mentioned as he resumed his research, "A Hufflepuff checked out the _Silmarillion_ out about twenty minutes ago, Sirius." Remus turned to look at his friend with an amused expression on his face and said, "Who'd you land in the Hospital Wing this time?"

Sirius ceased searching for the absent novel and turned to face his friend. He looked a little embarrassed to be caught in the library, but Sirius quickly adopted a confused look. "Aren't you supposed to have graduated?" he asked. Remus refused to take that for an answer and continued to stare at him placidly. Sighing in resignation, Sirius replied to Remus' earlier question, explaining, "I didn't send anyone there this time. Terry White—you remember him from Platform 9 and 3/4—was effectively bleeding to death outside my office, so I did the normal thing and took him to the Hospital Wing. Pompom just kicked me out."

Remus shook his head, grinning. "My God, Sirius, you didn't call her that to her face, did you?" he asked a little disbelievingly. Sirius responded with a look that effectively said to Remus, "Gee, you think?" Remus returned the look with one of his own and just simply commented, "Well, I had to ask, Sirius. We do know you, remember?" He was sad to hear about Terry, though. The young man was nice enough, even if he was rather guarded around Sirius and Remus. The conversation Remus had with Terry had been pleasant, even if Terry did do his best to avoid Sirius like the plague. "Did Terry mention what had happened to him?" Remus asked inquisitively. "Or is it 'classified'?"

Sirius shrugged and replied, "Sources tell me that he helped an Auror escape, so my delightful cousin beat him half to death. She recognized him, too." He suddenly looked rather uncomfortable and mentioned hesitantly, "He—Terry—implied he went to Hogwarts around the time we did. That's not possible, is it? I mean, do you remember him?" Looking a little melancholy, Sirius sat down at the table and continued, "I swear to God, it's frightening how beat-up he is. I don't mean from this, but whatever happened to him in the past really scarred him up. I'm not surprised he constantly wears glamours." Shaking his head, he said, "I haven't seen it so bad since… Well, you know."

As Remus stared at Sirius, he realized his friend looked less depressed than usual. That was a good development, wasn't it? Remus decided he might be safe inquiring after how Sirius and Artemesia were dealing with each other. Of course, he would have to make an oblique reference first. "Right. I hope he feels better," Remus replied before saying, "How do you think that Artemesia and her cousin are doing? I mean, have you or anyone else told either of them about how Terry's in the Hospital Wing? Maybe you should go tell Artemesia. I'm sure Terry's wife would like to know that he's safe, if a little beat up."

Sirius cringed and grimaced a bit. "I don't know," he replied a bit hesitantly. Remus took that as a good sign, because Sirius had to have known what Remus was up to. Remus almost felt a bit as if they were back in school, despite the fact that Remus was dressed in casual Muggle clothes and looked forty and that Sirius was dressed like a professor and looked respectable and … serious. "I'm not so sure that White wants either of them to know what's happened to him," Sirius continued. He looked down at the books he had set down on the table. "He doesn't seem to be thinking all that clearly," he mentioned, gesturing to the two books. "I found both of the books he asked for. He was about to suggest the _Silmarillion_, but apparently I said something that made him think it would be a bad idea to mention it," Sirius told Remus.

Pausing for a moment and glancing at the other books spread out on the table, Sirius asked, "What in the name of Merlin are you looking up?" Remus found it a bit amusing that Sirius had momentarily reverted to saying Merlin instead of God in his cursing. Well, Remus had to admit reading Dark Arts books and taking copious notes was a bit strange for him. Sirius picked up one of the books and read, "_Le Grimoire des arts mentales de la magie noir_ par Jacques-Pierre Malefoi. Mille et un, anno domini. What the fuck? Why are you reading a book about soul and mind magic?"

Remus stared at him ever-sufferingly and explained, "I'm following a lead I discovered while wasting my time in your family's library. There was a book that was grievously misshelved, and I decided to look at it. Someone had scribbled some notes in the margin that looked suspiciously like they were onto something concerning the downfall of a 'Dark Lord.' So, here I am, researching everything I could that fit the parameters of the book referenced in the note."

Sirius stared at him skeptically then looked down at the book. Scrunching his eyebrows together, Sirius then said, "Did you know that this book is back in the library, too? I mean…" A thought hit him, so Sirius opened the book and looked at the title page. After cursing a bit, he shut the book and turned it over, obviously looking for some sort of indication that it was actually from the school library. Remus became unsure that it was as he watched Sirius try to find evidence to the contrary. Sirius' face paled considerably when he looked on the inside of the back cover. Shutting the book and setting it down, Sirius looked like he was trying to calm himself before he asked tensely, "Remus, where did you find this?"

"Misshelved in the Alchemy area of the Restricted Section," Remus replied calmly. He was starting to wonder what the matter was. The book he had found in the Black house had been misshelved in between the cooking and Quidditch sections. As far as Remus could tell, the library had been arranged phonetically. Although, Remus had a feeling that cooking and Quidditch fit into a category that Remus was as of yet unaware. He did not put it past the House of Black to make so little sense, Sirius not being an exception to that particular rule.

Sirius tentatively pulled out a small note from the back of the book and unfolded it. As Sirius read it, and Remus noticed his friend's hands started shaking. Taking a shaky breath, Sirius said, "This is the book from the library, Remus. The—there's a letter from my brother t-to Voldemort." He handed the handwritten letter over to Remus, who hesitantly took the tattered piece of paper. The look that was on Sirius' face was almost painful for Remus to look at. Sirius looked to be on the verge of tears, even though he was trying to smile. The handwriting was similar to the messy scrawl that Sirius had managed to perfect in their school days, but when Remus actually looked at it, he realized that it was the same handwriting he had noticed in the margins of that other book. And so, Remus read the note:

_Tom Riddle,_

_I know that I am as good as dead, but I want you to know I know what you have done, you insufferable bastard. I have stolen the real Horcrux, and, God willing, it has been destroyed. If all goes well, you will be mortal by the time you meet your match. I hope he kills you painfully._

_Go fuck yourself,_

_Regulus Black_

Well. Remus had a newfound respect for Sirius' brother. It took some sort of audacity to say that to any given Dark Lord, much less the one that he had been serving. Remus looked up to see that Sirius was grinning. It was obvious he was still distressed, but the letter seemed to have finally brought Sirius some closure. Knowing that his brother had in fact died doing the right thing must have been one hell of a relief.

"I guess we know what he was researching, then," Remus commented inanely. Thankfully, he was rewarded with Sirius' laughter. Apparently, Remus could still make idiotic comments that made Sirius laugh. The ability was kind of annoying when he was trying to be serious, though.

Smiling much less melancholically, Sirius said to Remus, "We should probably tell Dumbledore about the Horcruxes. If Voldemort did make some, and it's pretty damn hard to mistake them for anything else, then Dumbledore should know that Voldemort is immortal." Remus was a little lost. Sirius knew what these Horcrux things were? He had obviously realized that Remus was slightly confused, so Sirius explained patiently, "A Horcrux is a particular kind of Dark artifact that is a vessel for a fragment of soul of the witch or wizard that made the Horcrux. Essentially, as long as one of Voldemort's Horcruxes still exists, he cannot die, hence why it makes sense that he 'came back to life.' That potion Harry described that was used to restore Voldemort then had to have been just a corporeal restorative and not a potion for resurrecting the dead." Sirius flipped open the grimoire and skimmed until he found the bit he had obviously been looking for. He scoffed and shook his head before continuing, "It's all here. Damn it. I knew that potion had sounded familiar." Skipping pages to another section, Sirius continued to read, muttering the archaic French under his breath as he tried to find the passage.

Remus continued to observe his friend as he transfigured a loose scrap of paper into a pad of ruled paper and started to take notes with a quill he transfigured into a ballpoint pen. Sirius rapidly took notes, leaving Remus to be somewhat disturbed by the fact that Hogwarts' current professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts probably knew more about the Dark Arts than their defense. Also, said person happened to be Remus' best friend. Sirius knew these books well enough to recognize something so arcane almost immediately. Not for the first time, Remus wondered what Sirius' parents had been trying to do when they were raising him. Remus supposed that this work gave Sirius purpose. He also supposed that Sirius needed to be reassured in some way that he was actually useful to the Order. No matter what Remus thought on the matter of Sirius' frankly disconcerting knowledge of the Dark Arts, what Remus had stumbled onto was indeed important. It was important to the war effort, for Harry's continued health, and for Sirius's sense of well-being and self-esteem.

Suddenly, Sirius stopped taking notes and set the pen down. There were about two pages of hastily scribbled writing that Remus figured that only Sirius could decipher, but the notes seemed to contain what information they needed. Sirius grinned as he remembered something and pulled a paper out of his pocket. "What exactly is this, Remus?" Sirius asked his friend altogether too cheerfully as he handed it to him. "It isn't telling me anything of consequence."

Remus took the proffered paper far less hesitantly than he had taken the note from Sirius' brother, which Remus returned to Sirius. Turning the paper over, Remus studied it. He could tell there was advanced spell-work on the parchment. Sirius was staring at him expectantly. At that point, Remus remembered that the Weasley twins had asked him earlier in the month for prank tips. He had told them only how to hide what was written on a piece of parchment and the trick to encode personalities in the covers for those spells.

"Talk to it," Sirius suggested. Remus became incredibly suspicious.

After a raised eyebrow at his friend, Remus murmured the password to the parchment that should allow him to see what was actually written. Sirius had never bothered to learn the theory behind those spells on the Marauder's Map. Of course, he had had his hand full with the recognition spells. In any case, the illusion faded away for Remus, and he read the letter addressed to the student body. Remus tried not to grin and reactivated the spells. Sirius ould not want to read the letter. "It's just a list of bets," Remus informed him. "It's pretty complex, I'll have to admit, but there's nothing all that interesting in there. What's so interesting, Padfoot? They copied the Map, sure, but…"

"Moony, it's odd, but you suddenly bear an overwhelming resemblance to Sean Connery."

Remus was confused and looked down at the parchment, which said, _Mr. Padfoot believed Professor Moony's current appearance is most fitting, since he is normally as unlike Mr. Bond as humanly possible. However, Mr. Padfoot feels Professor Padfoot looks best in many, many colors. Also, Mr. Padfoot congratulates Professor Moony on remembering how to bypass the spell. Age obviously hasn't caught up with Professor Moony._ Remus stared for a moment at the paper, then at Sirius, then at the paper again, before saying, "Sirius, they actually copied the Marauder's Map's charms. The twins are more inventive than I thought."

"You're telling me, Bond," Sirius replied seriously. "I was a walking rainbow for hours."

Instead of lowering himself to respond with a verbal barb, Remus chucked a book at him.

* * *

Hermione had decided that at a quarter past nine it was time to take her semi-daily trip to the library. She had just finished the last novel she had checked out and was looking to find another one to read. Choosing to browse the fiction section first, Hermione made her way to the stacks that held what she was looking for. A strange sight greeted her: Professor Lupin was sitting at one of the study-tables, reading up on what appeared to be dark magic, and Sirius (_Professor Black!_ her mind corrected) was sitting next to him, reading what appeared to be an equally dark book. When she came closer, she realized it was just a copy of the Scottish play. Hermione was not particularly surprised. Trying to remain inconspicuous, she resigned herself to accepting the scene was real. Otherwise, she had fallen asleep while doing her homework.

Ignoring the fact that her erstwhile and current professors were trying to look nonchalant, Hermione made to browse the literature section. On her way there, she noticed that Sirius had two novels stacked on the table next to all of the Dark Arts texts. It was not so odd, Hermione supposed, but she slightly wondered why he had chosen those two books. She would have thought him to be more of the type that read, well, pulp fiction and spy novels. Hermione supposed that it fit that he could read Greek, though.

As she passed the two men, her current professor asked hopefully, "That doesn't happen to be the _Silmarillion_, does it?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. She noticed that Professor Lupin looked a little hacked off at the question, even if he did seem amused.

"No, it's the _Return of the King_," Hermione replied, a little confused. Did she want to know why Sirius was looking for one of the most frustrating books Hermione had ever read? Or was well better left alone? Then again, this was the perfect time to ask if the rumor about the man who had been rushed to the Hospital Wing was true. Harry's godfather probably knew what was going on.

Sirius seemed to consider for a moment and mused, "Well, I suppose that would do. Are you returning it?" After a pause in which Hermione had no time to respond to the first question, Sirius asked no one in particular, "And why is it that all of the _Lord of the Rings_ books are checked out of the library?"

Hermione explained, "The fifth-year Muggle Studies class is reading various interpretations of magic in literature, and Professor Burbage had the brilliant idea of assigning _Lord of the Rings_. I was just reading for fun, and, yes, I am returning the book." Halting for a moment, Hermione considered as to whether or not she should ask why he was looking for the books. Her slightly nosy side winning over, she said, "May I ask why you wanted to find the _Silmarillion_ of all of them?"

Sirius' expression did not change one bit, but he and Lupin shared a Look. Hermione knew the Look. It was the one that all of the adults in the Order used when deciding what to tell the children, who would invariably attempt to spy on the meetings. Sirius had foiled most of George and Fred's plans when he noticed the twins' Extendable Ears. None of the Weasley children had noticed anything out of the ordinary until Harry and Hermione realized that they were listening to movie dialogue said in the voices of the Order members. The twins had forgotten they were dealing with their idols.

Finally, Professor Lupin answered tentatively, "An acquaintance of ours is currently in the Hospital Wing, so Sirius volunteered to get him some books." As if realizing something and then seeking to repair the damage, Lupin hurriedly added, "Don't worry. It's no one that you or Harry met over the summer."

Hermione nodded slowly, thinking. The rumor about the man was true. With a mental shrug, she handed the book over to Sirius and again wondered why a severely injured person would possibly want to read any of Tolkien's epics. Hermione considered that the books were more enjoyable if you weren't lucid enough to completely understand what you were reading. "Well, I hope your friend has fun reading," Hermione mentioned politely. "And, of course, that he (or she) feels better." She noticed Sirius trying to hide a smile and refrained from rolling her eyes. Of course _he_ would be the one to immediately think of _that_. An alternative interpretation was that this friend found trouble so often that the benediction was next to useless. Hermione couldn't decide which it was. Both were too likely.

"I'm sure he will," Lupin replied with a smile to Hermione. To his friend, Lupin grinned in a slightly frightening way and informed him, "And, Sirius, it's still 'romani ite domum,' and, no, you still can't call Severus Loretta." And there went Hermione's faith in Professor Lupin acting like a mature, rational adult. On the bright side, at least he was acting more maturely than Sirius, and Professor Lupin was generally rational. Feeling as if he should explain himself, Lupin continued, "Please, ignore Sirius for the moment. As you may have noticed, he has this amazing ability to connect completely unrelated thoughts, except Severus did have a conversation like that with Lily once."

Hermione nodded slowly and made the decision to leave. That was pretty much more than she wanted to know. Smiling hesitantly, Hermione said in farewell, "It was nice seeing you, Professor Lupin, but I need to go back to my homework." To Sirius, she said, "Professor Black." As she made her way out, she chose to ignore the fact that a man dressed in the Hospital Wing pyjamas rushed into the library ostensibly to hide from Madame Pomfrey. Hermione chose not to think about it more. Let Professors Lupin and Black deal with him. They were friends, after all. However, if she knew Madame Pomfrey, the three were in for a rather interesting conversation. She still wondered what potions Madame Pomfrey used. Whatever they were, they were strong, that was for sure. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered what she had done in her past life to have such a strange one this time around. Because, Defense Against the Dark Arts class? Honestly!

* * *

_**Notes**: Sorry for the extremely late update. Also: it's the one year anniversary. Joy. Rapture. I'm still not finished with the fic (stuck on chapter 31 still). As my schedule this year is still crazy as hell, updating once a month again out of necessity. I've not edited past chapter nineteen, so... Expect a chapter around Thanksgiving? I know this is madness, and I apologize. Anyway! Thanks for being patient with me. Also, thanks so very much for reading, and please review if you've the time.  
_

_**Coming soon**: Sirius has a very, very, very long day. With panthers pretending to be ravens, philosophizing on the ceiling of the Great Hall, and show tunes._


	20. Knocking On His Chamber Door

The next morning, Sirius was exhausted. He really did not want to teach that morning. Hell, he wasn't sure he was up to going down to the Great Hall and eating breakfast. He had been awake half the night thanks to White, who had happened to escape from Madame Pomfrey at about 2100 hours. There had once been a time when Sirius had thought the idea of going to sleep at ten o'clock at night was ridiculous. That had not been too long ago. Granted, he could have just slept in until noon, but now he had to wake in the small hours of the morning. He needed his sleep, dammit. Plus, that discovery about his brother had been a bit draining.

Trust Reggie to tell Voldemort to go fuck himself, though.

Sirius vaguely wondered how his brother had survived five months with the Death Eaters, let alone one. Oh, Sirius knew he was tired if this was what he was thinking about. At least it was an interesting subject. So: White was almost as annoying as Regulus had the capability to be, especially when White was on the painkillers Pomfrey used. Sirius privately thought she tended to give the students morphine or codeine or the like instead of painkilling potions. Most everyone he knew that had ever visited the Hospital Wing spoke of trippy experiences thanks to the painkillers. Potions generally didn't cause the result.

After haphazardly throwing on some clothes, Sirius made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Maybe some caffeine would do him some good? Following a rather short moment of contemplation, Sirius decided that the answer to that question was definitely a no. Sitting down at the table, the sleep-deprived Defense teacher stared at the plate of waffles that had appeared in front of him. He noticed that there was a cup of tea next to the plate. Maybe the house elves were hinting something.

As Sirius started to eat breakfast, Auriga walked into the Great Hall in a (tasteful) pink robe and bunny-slippers. She seemed to be zombie-like as well. Plunking down next to her coworker, she let her head hit the table. "What in the name of God was that racket last night?" she asked a tad incoherently.

Sirius paused before answering slowly, "Terry White. He's crazy. Mad, you could say."

"Hm," Auriga replied and sat back up. A bowl of cereal appeared in front of her, as did a large cup of coffee. She ruminated and then downed the entire cup. Glancing at Sirius, she said, "He's very loud. He also Arty's cousin's husband-y-person, right?"

Sirius replied in the affirmative. He was starting to be a little more awake. "Didn't get much sleep last night, 'cause Remus and I were chasing him down," Sirius explained as way of apology for his eccentric sleepy behavior. "He's pretty fast, too. Madame Pomfrey had us after him for a long while. Ran all around the castle, you know. I have no clue where he got the energy from. I mean, I found him bleeding to death in front of my office door just yesterday afternoon." Figuring that Auriga would probably ask about how Terry had arrived there, Sirius continued, "I don't know how he how he arrived at my door, but he did. I think Pompom puts something in the water, because I've never run into anyone besides Remus who managed to escape from the Hospital Wing without having acid flashbacks or something resembling them."

Auriga shot Sirius an alarmed look. "Really? I only ever saw normal things, even if I did have demented dreams with horses of different colors!" she said. Shaking her head, unimpressed by Sirius's analysis, Auriga continued, "I mean, Arty had once been under the impression she was Maid Marian yet se was feverish. You might remember the time. We were in seventh year. Potter was the one who convinced her to go to the Hispital Wing. Apparently, she thought he was Little John. When I went to visit her, she addressed me as Lois Lane and referred to your brother as Batman. Who has acid flashbacks? Next you'll be telling me that you thought a rainbow had a beard, or that you were playing tennis with Yogi Bear. Even better, you were attacked by a wrapping paper monster, and there was a girl with kaleidoscope eyes hanging about."

"Lucy in the sky with diamonds?" Sirius suggested absentmindedly. Auriga realized what she had said and slammed her head into the table, barely missing her cereal bowl. "Don't worry, I blame the early hour," Sirius reassured her. "Out of curiousity, why were you Lois Lane and James Little John?" he asked Auriga. "For the record, though, I never saw anything, either. I was mostly unconscious when quarantined in the Hospital Wing," Sirius corrected. "Pompom only gave me Muggle medicine for pain. Remember the time I had mono? That was a living hell. She almost sent me home."

Auriga nodded and said, "Yeah. You dragged your ass to class for a week before Peter made you go see Madame Pomfrey." Realizing she should not have said that, Auriga added, "Well, I mean, everyone else was thinking it, but—"

Sirius watched Auriga try to fix what she had said. He finally put her out of her misery and said, "Stop. It's fine. I'm not going to blow a gasket every time someone mentions Peter, Auriga. Back then, he was my friend. Hell, I even feel guilty sometimes for not talking him out of joining the Death Eaters. Ridiculous, huh? Well, forgive thy enemies, right?" He grimaced. Lovely. Why was it that every conversation he had lately tended to leave him feeling like he had been run over by a train? However, he was an emotional train-wreck.

Shrugging, Auriga was about to reply when a voice shouted, "SIRIUS ORION BLACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Glancing off to the side, Auriga grinned nervously and said quite matter-of-factly to Sirius, "You're in deep shit." She nodded a bit after her declaration and return to eating her cereal, determined to ignore the fact that her best friend was about to wake the entire school by shouting at her coworker.

Sirius cringed as Artemesia came to a halt next to him. She looked absolutely furious, and Sirius realized that she had noticed that White was in the Hospital Wing and had therefore talked to him. White in all likelihood had mentioned that he had talked to Sirius and that there had been a Great Escape. Sirius tried to look as innocent as possible as he said, "What's going on, Artemesia?"

Artemesia stared at him in disbelief. "'What's going on?' You cannot be serious!" she exclaimed. "Terry is lying half-dead in the infirmary, and you're asking _me_ what's going on?" Sirius figured that she was indeed irritated that he had not told her about White. Well, he had been planning on telling her. Sometime, most likely later that day. Artemesia continued a teensy bit more calmly, "Sirius, he said that you were the one who took him to the Hospital Wing in the first place. Why didn't you tell me? I know you know he's Vesta's husband."

Sirius grimaced before replying acidly, "I wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to know he had the sh—was injured, so I didn't want to say anything until he made a decision, which was certainly not last night, seeing as he was flying so high on painkillers that he made Remus and I chase him around the castle until two in the morning!"

Skeptical, Artemesia raised an eyebrow. "Two in the morning? I highly doubt that. He looks like he's at death's door," she shot back. Sirius knew she was angry because she was upset about White, who really did look like something the cat dragged in. Sirius should have cut her some more slack, but he was running on five hours of sleep. The students had started to trickle in, so Artemesia demanded more quietly, "Couldn't you have at least said he was here? You wouldn't have had to say how bad off he is, but that at least?"

He was about to make another excuse, but the caffeine started to kick in, so Sirius apologized, "I'm sorry. I should have told you he was injured, but, I don't know, I felt guilty about leaving him alone in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey was there, but …" Sirius felt like a complete idiot, and Artemesia was still glaring at him. She probably knew he had found White outside of his office at around four in the afternoon or so. Sirius had to account for ten hours. Well, he could. Sirius explained, "After Madame Pomfrey kicked me out of the Hospital Wing, I went over to the library to check out some books for White." Artemesia's glare had softened considerably, which made Sirius remember a time when he had done something similar. No. That had been completely different. Sirius continued, "Remus was there in the library, so I talked to him for an hour or so before White appeared, demanding asylum. Madame Pomfrey arrived a couple minutes later, and then White decided to run around the castle for five hours. I probably should have told you sooner, but I was a little occupied." Goddamn, why did he have to be so defensive? He should have been civil and not further alienate Artemesia. Next time he saw White, Sirius was going to give the man a piece of his mind.

Cooling off, Artemesia sighed exasperatedly and glanced over at Auriga, whose eyes widened in horror. She knew better than into the middle of an argument between Sirius and Artemesia. Auriga _did_ have about a decade's worth of experience on the matter. Finally, Artemesia sat down at the teacher's table next to Auriga. "How much of what drug did Poppy give Terry?" she asked hesitantly, "He doesn't react… well, remember what happened with your brother during the Halloween party in sixth year?"

Auriga snorted and said, "Well, he was legitimately high, then, Artemesia." Realizing what she had said in front of whom, Auriga quickly amended, "Not that we had anything to do with it. Just because we were dressed as hobbits doesn't mean we had weed of any sort."

Sirius chose to ignore Auriga's defense. Turning back to Artemesia, Sirius said flatly, "At least my brother wouldn't have run through the halls quoting—"

"Who in God's name was reciting lines from _Paradise Lost _last night at one in the morning?" Snape demanded irritatedly of his three colleagues. He was glaring at Sirius, who was glaring back, although Sirius was the less menacing of the two, as usual. Glancing at Auriga and Artemesia, Snape conjectured, "It was White, wasn't it? Is his main reason for existing to annoy everyone? Or is it just me he irritates?"

"Remus and I tried to corral him back to the Hospital Wing, but he kept doubling back and generally eluding us," Sirius stated, responding civilly to Snape for once. "White just has that maddening tendency to exasperate the hell out of everyone he meets. Fuck, you didn't hear when he started quoting Darth Vader."

A fan of schadenfreude, Snape stared at Sirius and laughed. Ignoring the potions professor, Artemesia concluded, "I take it Terry was completely out of it, then?" She considered what to say before asking, "Did he at time start referring to himself as anything other than Terry White, or did he at least have enough presence of mind to remember who he is?"

"He said he was Charlemagne, James Bond, a ninja, a thief, and a dead man," Sirius replied in a deadpan. "I chose to tune him out, even if Remus was considering taking notes. Painkillers really fuck with White's mind, don't they?"

"It seems that White becomes intolerable when Confunded or drugged and lucid when he's in pain," Snape agreed. Sirius was rather disturbed by the fact that Snape was actually agreeing with him and that Snape was alluding to Death Eaters frequently casting the Cruciatus on White. Snape seemed to be likewise disturbed but continued, "White made a similar speech to me once after a mutual acquaintance lost his temper with White and Confuded him. The spell wore off eventually, but he acted like a drunken fool for about two hours."

Artemesia seemed stuck between horrified and amused. Sirius wondered why she would be horrified. He sincerely doubted White was so cavalier in front of the Death Eaters, even if Snape had implied that someone (Sirius assumed it was Malfoy; Bellatrix more the type to _Crucio_ first, ask questions later) had gone as far as to Confund White. Granted, Artemesia knew White better than Sirius did, so maybe White would act out in front of the Death Eaters. Why, Sirius had no clue. Unless, of course, White used to be with the… Sirius remembered White did in fact have the Dark Mark on his arm, and the condition of it was startlingly similar to what the Aurors typically found on any of the men or women who had backed out of the Death Eaters. It was not too much of a leap for Sirius to realize White might be acting like his polar opposite to prevent his enemies from recognizing him. So, if White acted like a lunatic now, then he had been the one who tried to make himself inconspicuous. White would have been the quiet type and certainly not the type who would run around a castle, half-dead, in the middle of the night.

While Sirius had been thinking, Artemesia seemed to recover a bit as Auriga and Snape started to argue. With a half-smile, Artemesia excused herself from the table. Sirius watched her leave, thinking she was probably going off to visit her in-law. Honestly, what was White like if the manic behavior was just another one of his masks? Was the man actually quiet or was he really that talkative?

Quickly finishing off breakfast (Snape and Auriga's conversation had become very strange, very quickly), Sirius decided to go to class early.

That decision had been a mistake. The only other person in the room was Luna Lovegood. "The panther is strange, but people are strange when you are a stranger," she said dreamily. "He's been very alone, but I highly doubt that he is unwanted." Sirius stared at his student. The girl was admittedly far stranger than her mother had been, and no one believed she could be surpassed. Sometimes, Sirius wondered how Selena Smythson had convinced Daniel Lovegood to marry her. Even if Sirius hadn't just been a second-year, Smythson would have severely disturbed him. She kept discussing wall-hangings and drapery around him, and she had routinely patted Remus on the head and said, "Don't worry. Life could be much worse, like it will be in ten years." Remus had avoided her on principle.

Of course, Sirius had to hand it to Luna. She, like her mother, appeared to be a Seer, but she did a fine job hiding that fact. Sirius doubted that anyone suspected. He decided to not play along and asked, "Why the Doors? Couldn't think of anything else, or was that song the only one that worked with your vision the way you wanted?"

Luna stared at him owlishly before answering, "I like the song, and he is cat-like in the same ways you are dog-like." Apparently she was going to make sense today. "Alas, what fools these mortals be! Better to serve in heaven and rein in hell." Or not. Luna cocked her head to the side and asked flat out, "Is there something going on between you and Professor Vector? I have ten galleons riding on a bet. It's what's on those funny parchments."

Sirius stared at the girl in confusion. What exactly had just happened? Luna started flashing pastel colors and had sprouted a set of bunny ears. Despite that, she continued to stare as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "What?" Sirius finally managed to say. He must have heard that incorrectly. It couldn't be that obvious there was tension between—Okay, fine, one would have to be blind not to notice he and Artemesia were awkward around each other, but was it so obvious that the self-proclaimed space-cadet noticed? Remembering the rest of what she said, Sirius demanded, "What do you mean, there's a bet? That's what the parchment says? Why hasn't—" He stopped. Of course no one would mention the bets to a teacher, especially if the penalty included pastel colors and rabbit ears.

Luna continued to watch him placidly and replied, "The Weasley twins are amusing." Humming to herself, she explained, "Very few people believe the theories anymore, but some believe there is truth to the matter, generally Harry's friends. Your godson remains painfully oblivious, Professor." Luna decided that she had not said enough and continued, "Ginny's older brothers and their friend are still trying to catch you and Professor Vector in a closet, although I do not understand why. Adults are supposed to be much more intelligent than that."

Sirius replied, "Well, Miss Lovegood, the world is a rather strange place, and, no, there is nothing 'going on.' Professor Vector and I knew each other in school, but as you could probably tell, we currently cannot have a decent conversation with one another." Luna continued to regard him very gravely, which caused him to say, "Miss Lovegood, you've sprouted rabbit ears. There is no way I can take you seriously when you are flashing colors on top of that." Luna shrugged in acquiescence and started reading her text. Of course, that behavior just made Sirius stare at the girl in something resembling disbelief for another couple of minutes as the class filed in.

Two hours later, during his morning break between the nine o'clock and eleven o'clock classes, Sirius left his office to go get a cup of tea from the kitchens. About half-way down, he realized that he could have just taken a tea kettle and filled it with water from the faculty restroom's sink. He had already come too far, so Sirius continued on to the kitchens.

When he returned to his office with the tea, Sirius was slightly surprised to see a panther sitting in front of the door, idly swishing its tail back and forth, occasionally hitting its head against the door as if to knock on it. More than mildly surprised, Sirius stopped where he was and leaned back against the wall opposite his office. Older students who had a free period and were passing by stopped to observe the overgrown house cat. It was slightly fascinating, Sirius had to admit, if he got over the fact that it was hitting its head against the door to his office. Finally, when Harry and his friends passed by, Harry asked, "Sirius? Why's there a leopard sitting in front of our office door?"

"I have no clue," Sirius replied, shrugging, and took another sip of tea. "It's just there," he continued. Apparently the panther recognized his voice, because its ears perked up, and it turned towards him. Sirius noticed at this point that it had a sign tied around its neck. "'Nevermore,'" he read. He blinked. He stared at the panther, and the panther stared back before walkinf over. The students cleared a path for the potentially dangerous animal very quickly. The panther loped over and sat down in front of the professor. It seemed to be content with just staring up at him and swishing its tail back and forth. A thought hit Sirius, and he asked the animal, "White sent you, didn't he?" It stared back at him with bright grey eyes before yawning.

Sirius sighed and muttered, "For God's sake." He continued to drink the tea and stare at the animal, which just stared back unblinkingly. Finally, the panther blinked and looked rather irritated at itself for doing so. "I take it you're not going to move?" Sirius asked and received only a lazy look in return. "Fine. Weird animal. You know, White's delusional. You're supposed to be a raven, not a panther," Sirius mused to himself, although he belatedly realized that the students could hear him. Oh, well. Better to be known as the one who has conversations with animals than the batty astronomy teacher. Auriga did mean well, but—Sirius realized that the panther was glaring at him, complete with folded back ears. That was strange. All he had said was… "Do you understand me?" he suddenly asked, and the panther nodded happily a couple times before twitching and pretending that it had not in fact been nodding. "You do!" Sirius exclaimed.

The panther started to inch away backwards, its eyes widening as it realized that the jig was up. Sirius calmly set his tea down in an alcove before turning to Harry and apologizing, "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to run. It's unavoidable, but I have to return the panther to where it belongs. Maybe we'll have it neutered. I'm free after you have Quidditch practice, so we can talk then." The panther was in reverse. Next to his friends, Harry nodded as he stared dumbly at the animal.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed in realization. "He's an Animagus, isn't he?" Ron turned to look at her in confusion as the panther started to bolt.

"I'd say so," Sirius replied stonily, glaring just a bit at said cat. "If you'll excuse me," he said more calmly and with a slightly forced smile before sprinting after the damned fool. Still on the chase, he realized an hour later that Luna had informed him that White was an Animagus earlier in the morning. Giving up and morphing into a dog, Sirius made better time against White, who was surprisingly fast, even when running down the staircases. Sirius kept up rather well, although he did lose sight of White once or twice.

What in the world was Pomfrey giving the ex-Death Eater? Speed?

When approaching the Great Hall, White turned back into a human and escaped into the large room, probably seeking asylum. Thankfully, the idiot Animagus had enough sense to realize exhibiting his (knowing White, illegal) ability in front of the children of Death Eaters was the epitome of a Bad Idea. Sirius followed suit and promptly ran into White, who was staring at the ceiling. By that point, Sirius realized it was lunchtime and some of the students (and a professor or two) were staring at them quizzically. He didn't blame them at all and was glad not everyone had noticed.

"The sky's pretty. The weather's nice today," White observed as Sirius helped him stand.

Sirius stared at the man. White really should have been in the Hospital Wing under close surveillance. He tried to explain to White slowly and calmly, "That's not the sky; that's just the ceiling." However, he had no high hopes that the information would sink in. Looking around, Sirius noticed that Harry had frozen in the middle of eating. It actually reminded him of the first time that Lily had replied in the affirmative to James' hourly inquiry about going out. Suffice to say, Harry looked pretty damn gobsmacked. More and more students seemed to be noticing White and Sirius.

White stared at Sirius like he was crazy before smiling a mite goofily and said, "I know, but it's still the sky." He nodded knowingly and continued to admire the ceiling. Madame Pomfrey must have thought that the painkillers she had given him would keep him unconscious. She had severely miscalculated, or White had one hell of a metabolism. Sirius figured it was probably a potions interaction gone wrong. That said, White didn't seem to be feeling any pain.

For his second attempt, Sirius explained calmly, "It's an illusion. Therefore it is not the sky. It only looks like the sky." Sirius saw that White's son over at the Hufflepuff table was twitching and pretending did not exist and that he did not know his father whatsoever. If he weren't in the spotlight, Sirius would have definitely found the entire situation hilarious.

"If it looks like the sky, depicts what the sky looks like, and is generally sky-like, then it is the sky," White explained rationally, seemingly wondering why Sirius did not understand. The third-year, Gemma, whom Sirius could only assume was related to White, appeared increasingly embarassed by the exchange.

Returning to the subject at hand, why was Sirius bothering to argue with this idiot? Loosing patience, he sighed in exasperation and said, "But it's not the sky. It's an illusion. The sky is outside." He gestured towards the windows for emphasis. White did not seem to understand the concept. That, or he decided to ignore it. Artemesia started to look embarrassed on behalf of her cousin and seemed to really want to take a blunt object to her in-law.

"Who said the sky needs to be outside? It's the sky," White insisted. Snape looked like he was ready to kill someone (preferably White, but Sirius would do nicely), and Sirius couldn't really blame him. Then again, the conversation was really starting to sound like a philosophical discussion that a fifth-year Slytherin had once had with a seventh-year Dorcas Meadowes. Unfortunately, White decided to continue, "Besides, it all depends on our point of view." Sitting next to Harry, Hermione winced at the wording.

Apparently, White's daughter had snapped out of her daze by that point and exclaimed, "Dad! What the fuck are you doing here?" Gemma's eyes went wide as she stared at White's daughter in abject horror. Sirius could relate all too well. "And what the hell is going on?"

"Watch your mouth, young lady!" White scolded his daughter before turning back to Sirius to further prove his point about the ceiling. After a moment, he turned back and blinked a couple of times, as if just realizing that he was in the Hogwarts Great Hall. Blanching, White murmured to himself, "I'm not so sure I should be here." He was swaying on his feet.

Sirius clasped him on the shoulder to stabilize him and said, "Then maybe we should return you to the Hospital Wing. I have the feeling that you are disturbing most of the people in the room, and the longer you prolong your exposure to Snape, the more he will want to take a sharpened spoon to you." Sirius glanced over at the teacher's table and noticed that Umbridge was staring at the two of them with disapproval. As much as he would have loved to make her squirm, Sirius knew the best course of action was to return White to the Hospital Wing before he fainted in the middle of the Great Hall. "Come on, I'm sure Pompom has a nice sedative for you," Sirius coaxed the very confused Department of Mysteries agent.

Exhausted but on the verge of a second wind, White growled, "No! I won't surrender! You'll have to kill me first!" The run about the castle the night before had taken its toll on the younger man, and Sirius doubted White would be able to escape yet again.

"That's counter-productive, White," Sirius pointed out logically, starting to herd him out of the Great Hall. "Now come on. I promise you'll feel better." White nodded and willingly followed Sirius. When they were at the doors, however, White made a break for it, tripping Sirius, who cursed rather creatively. "Vive la résistance!" White exclaimed and ran. As Sirius stood up, he noticed that Narcissa's son was twitching. That was funny.

For some reason, Snape was striding towards the door, muttering, "I'm going to kill him. I swear to God, I'm going to kill him." He stopped in front of Sirius and said, "Black, I still despise you more than anything in the entire universe aside from Potter, but White is clearly a menace to society when he's not lucid, and you obviously need help apprehending him. Let's go."

Sirius took a couple of moments to realize that Snape was in fact offering to help and nodding. He knew White had in all likelihood changed back into a panther and was hiding in the library, if Sirius was reading White right. Were White to stay a panther, Sirius and Snape would have to drag the man back to the Hospital Wing, and White might shred any and all intervening carpets in the process. Sirius made a snap decision and went over to the nearest table, asking the poor student (Narcissa's son), "May I borrow that fork?"

Draco stared at Sirius in horror, but Snape seemed to have caught on to what Sirius was thinking or at least approved of the various possibilities, even if Sirius had no intention of stabbing White with it. "Give him the fork, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, so Draco handed said salad fork over to Sirius. With a quick thanks, Sirius and Snape rushed out of the Great Hall, leaving a confused student population in their wake. On his way out, Sirius heard Gemma say, "I'm so glad I'm not related to either of them."

Twenty minutes later, Snape and Sirius delivered White to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey looked unimpressed with White's behavior and led him over to a bed, shaking her head. Sirius remained at the door, holding the fork he had transfigured into a net, and Snape left looking more perturbed than usual. Sirius had chosen to stay so White did not attempt to escape before Madame Pomfrey could render him unconscious.

Sirius transfigured the straight-jacket back into a fork and set it on the windowsill. He resumed watching White, but when he heard someone coming, he stepped outside to see who it was. Artemesia stopped abruptly in front of him. Sirius felt a bit of a blush creeping onto his face. She had witnessed the entirety of that ridiculous conversation he had with her cousin-in-law, and she was likely still angry with him from earlier. Way to get on her good side, Black. He stepped off to the side so she could go in. "Sorry, Artemesia," Sirius apologized and, thinking better of his earlier decision to guard the door, made to leave.

She looked about to say something but instead caught his shirtsleeve to stop him. "No, Sirius, don't," she said haltingly. A discomfited look crossed her face, and she admitted, "I'm the one that should be apologizing. I had no real reason to blow up at you like I did this morning." She glanced into the room where White was refusing to take any more potions. "Terry's just so disaster prone, and… He really needs to take better care of himself. Acting like that is only going to get him killed," she murmured. "Vesta would never forgive herself."

Sirius observed her for a moment. Artemesia looked noticeably worried about the younger man. Her hair was in disarray, and he realized she had run from the Great Hall to see how White was doing. Artemesia had the right to be concerned, after all. White should have been confined to the Hospital Wing. Hopefully, he would stay in one place this time. With a jolt, Sirius realized that he felt a little jealous. Artemesia was paying the other man more attention in the past day than she had in around a month to Sirius. He immediately felt guilty. Attempting to dispel the envy, Sirius reported, "Well, there's no risk of that anymore. Poppy says White should make a full recovery, even with all of the running around." As a penance, he added, "If you want me to, I could stay and make sure he doesn't run off again."

Artemesia turned to him, surprised. "Oh, that's fine. You—you don't have to, Sirius. Really, it's fine," she assured him nervously. After a moment, Sirius noticed that White was humming something that caused Artemesia to become embarrassed and get a horrified look on her face. "Oh… Ignore him, please, Sirius," Artemesia said. "He's never in his right mind when on medication. I'm sorry. It's just so stressful dealing with all of this. Please forgive me if I've been taking it out on you."

Sirius gave a half smile and nodded before they both turned back to stare at White, who had something of Cheshire Cat-like grin on his face. Sirius laughed quietly and commented, "He's such a strange man. Mercurial, too." With more of a smile, he continued, "Kinda reminds me of how Reg was in fourth year when he kept falling ill. God, I was so worried about him." Shaking his head, Sirius said apologetically, "Don't listen to me. I don't know what I'm saying. Hell, I find that note last night, and suddenly everything reminds me of my brother."

Artemesia remained silent. She looked down at the floor, steeling herself for what she was to say. "Sirius, I know this isn't the best time to hear this, but you need to let go," she murmured. "I know how badly you felt about Regulus's death, but he would have wanted you to move on."

With a wan smile, Sirius replied, "I know, but when I was in the library with Remus last night, we found a letter Reg wrote hidden in a book." Sirius laughed sadly and explained, "He wasn't backing out of the Death Eaters, 'Sia. He was fighting them. I always hoped he had chosen to do the right thing, but I didn't think he would… I should have stopped him from leaving when—"

"You couldn't have stopped him walking out that door any more than you could stop Terry from doing his job," Artemesia reassured him earnestly. "It was Regulus's choice."

Sirius nodded. "I know. I'm proud of him."

The two of them fell silent. Sirius wanted to say more, but he knew that even though he and Artemesia were talking like normal human beings, their past would always be between them. He found himself wishing that they had started over and ignored the past, but Sirius knew that would have been impossible. In fact, it would be almost as impossible as how White was acting. On a mission to drive Sirius insane, White was singing something including the line, "Look like the boy too shy; ain't gonna kiss the girl." The song sounded suspiciously like it was out of a Disney movie.

"Can't we just lock him up somewhere?" Sirius asked Artemesia, who looked absolutely mortified. He glanced back over at White, who was had resumed humming, and continued, "In all honestly, is he normally like that? I mean, he always acts guarded around me, but I don't know if that's just me or if that's what he normally acts like."

Artemesia shook her head and replied, "He's normally reserved, don't worry." She narrowed her eyes at White, however, when he changed songs, replacing the character's name with hers. "I'm going to murder him, Sirius. Absolutely going to murder him," she declared. "Please stop me from doing so. I don't want to explain to my cousin why I've murdered her husband."

Sirius, also glaring at White, requested, "Can I help you instead?" As the song was coming to one of the more memorable lines, Artemesia nodded gravely.

"ARTEMESIA! I'VE JUST MET A GIRL NAMED—" White stopped singing when Sirius threw a book (transfigured from the fork) at him. Catching the novel, White read the spine and said, "Awesome! _You Only Live Twice_! Thanks, Sirius!" before curling up like a cat and starting to read.

Sirius stared at the younger man in disbelief. He was not going to say anything. He was not going to say anything. Nothing at all. Artemesia turned to him and said, "Why don't we continue this discussion later, say at seven? I'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks." He could only nod in reply as she walked off. He realized a moment later that she had asked him to dinner.

* * *

_**Notes**: And I still fail at posting on time. Well, I'll be back to putting up two chapters a month during Winter Break, when I hope I can get some writing done. College has been hell this semester, and I am thus still stuck on chapter 31. Thank you all for reading, and I would love you all forever if you reviewed.  
_

_**Coming soon**: So. An arithmancy teacher, an ex-Death Eater, and a former prisoner of Azkaban walk into a bar..._


	21. Don't You Want Me

Artemesia was unsure why she had said what she had. After all, this was the epitome of a bad idea. Actually asking out Sirius… Merlin, what had she done? They had to remain friends and friends only. There was definitely no way they could go back to what the had been to one another, especially not so soon! They had only been in contact for two—fine, she would concede three—months, but before that, there was a gaping chasm of fourteen years where they had not spoken. Granted, it had hurt, but Artemesia felt that the injury had scarred over and healed. There was no reason for her to be so bloody emotional. They were fine. Just because Sirius was out of prison did not mean that she would become a blubbering mess who couldn't take care of herself. It wouldn't happen. There was no reason for it to happen. She hadn't been weak before, so she would not be weak now.

Granted, none of that made Artemesia feel any less nervous. She was sitting at a table in the back of the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Sirius to make his appearance. He was late, so she felt that she had a complete and total right to be nervous. Right? And this wasn't a date. It was just dinner between two friends (who happened to have almost been engaged in the distant past—the _very distant_ past) because she wanted to apologize for her behavior and the behavior of the madman she called an in-law. That was _all_. Nothing more, nothing less. For those reasons, she was staring sullenly at her butterbeer, wishing Sirius would hurry up and be on time for once in his life.

Besides, Artemesia couldn't deal with a relationship. She had responsibilities she couldn't shirk, even if Sirius seemed to be able to ignore his all too easily. She cared very much about her job, and she wasn't going to endanger it. She had to look after Gemma, pay the bills and the mortgage, and worry about the war. She didn't have the time to do anything more. She had too much to lose, and she wasn't going to bet it all on a game of chance again, not with the absolutely spectacular results from the last time she had played with fire. The problem with the brightest flame was that it burnt the worst, and burned she had been. Sirius was a good man, but he always rushed into things and never thought about the consequences. She could not risk that. Now, now she needed balance and order, not chaos, and not uncertainty as to whether or not she would be a widow in the morning. She could not handle that, not anymore. The first time there was a major battle, Sirius would be gone. It was as simple as that. He would be off to fight again, and she would watch him walk away again.

When their class had graduated, they had all been naïve, believing themselves invincible. As the war wore on, Artemesia had noticed how weary each and every one of them became. It had been little things at first, like Remus grimacing whenever someone brought up the increasingly frequent attacks or Lily frowning when James complained about some inane rule the Ministry had enacted because of fear. Later, everything had worsened: James would sometimes jump at loud noises, Lily was always worried about her parents and sister (the former with good reason, it turned out), Remus looked more and more haggard with each passing month, and Sirius slowly stopped talking to people. By the time the thirty-first of October had rolled around, there were few people he spoke with. Artemesia sometimes struggled to remember who had been in Gryffindor in their graduating year. There couldn't be more than a third of them left. Well, that may have been an underestimation, but absolutely no more than half of them made it. With those that did survive, it was barely so. They were alive, yes, but living was certainly a different matter. Remus was alive, Sirius was alive, and those others Artemesia couldn't put names to were alive. Were they living? Probably not. They were all probably still fighting that damned war, and soon they would be fighting it for real again. So Remus and Sirius and the others would put their lives or lack of lives on hold (or would they be picking them up again?) and take up arms once more. It was only inevitable, and it was tragic. It didn't matter that she had been part of that tragedy herself. She had chosen that path.

Now she was choosing it again. She was choosing him again. In her mind, she knew she shouldn't, but her bloody emotions said a different story. She was still in love with him. She, Artemesia Vector, was still in love with Sirius Black. She loved him. She bloody loved him. There was no way in hell Artemesia was going to admit it, though. Not to Auriga (it would be spread around the castle by morning), not to Remus (even if he would be a good confidant), and certainly not to Sirius. He could not deal with it. That was the alpha and omega of the problem. His bloody guilt complex would drag him down so far into despair, and there was no way that… God, she could drag him out of it, and she would, but she wished he wouldn't blame himself for everything.

Artemesia sighed and shook her head. She couldn't be acting like this, especially if Sirius appeared at that particular moment. There was no way he would leave her alone if he knew how she was feeling. It didn't even matter that he was even more of an emotional train-wreck. She smiled to herself and downed the rest of her butterbeer. That was something that had always puzzled her: butterbeer was nonalcoholic. How did that work out? It was beer, yet it was not. Actually, it wasn't worth the brainpower to think about it. Nope. None at all. Granted, it was better than going back down the path she had just been on, but that was a horse of a different color.

Thankfully, a voice saved her from further contemplation: "This seat taken?"

Artemesia twitched. Her thanks were obviously premature. Why was Terry there? _Why?_ Turning around and glaring, she reminded him, "You are supposed to be in the Hospital Wing, you suicidal idiot." As expected, the man's grin did not fade, and he sat down at the table anyway. "I mean it, Terry. Go away. I'm meeting Sirius for dinner. Please don't make a scene," she begged. Artemesia belatedly realized that she might have said the worst thing possible.

Terry grinned like a Cheshire cat and said, "Oh, really? Arty likes Siri?" Artemesia could only assume that the horrified look on her face was what made Terry laugh and reassure her earnestly, "Don't worry, Artemesia. I wouldn't mess with your love life like that. Plus, I figure Sirius deserves a bit of a break." Terry adopted a look of mock seriousness as he continued, "After all, Mr. Black has been through some hard times as of late. It would be a little cruel to start screwing him up again like that so soon." A pause. "I'll wait a week."

"Terry!" Artemesia exclaimed, mentally willing him to silence himself. She really did wish that Terry had a filter between his brain and his mouth. He certainly was in need of one. Granted, she did not really expect that he would ever get one outside of his work, but it would have been nice were he to not say anything and everything on his mind around friends and family. Artemesia still sometimes wondered how he had managed to reach adulthood, disregarding the war. "I'm serious! Please go and bother Snape or Poppy where you are supposed to be, I should remind you. If you really want to avoid the Hospital Wing, then camp out in the library and read to your heart's content. Just don't get me involved!"

Terry was still grinning, and Artemesia really felt like hitting him in the face. He shrugged and said, "I dunno. Pince doesn't seem to have ordered new Muggle books for the library in ages, and I mean _ages_." Artemesia stared at him dispassionately, which made him a little nervous, because he then explained, "I just managed to escape again. You know how much I hate that place. It's too… I don't know, but I finished the _You Only Live Twice_." He looked proud of himself for finishing the book so quickly, but he became penitent again when he noticed that Artemesia looked like she was going to murder him if he didn't come up with a better explanation as to why he was bothering her. "Well, then I kinda realized that I, uh, may have been a bit inappropriate earlier today, and I figured I should apologize, so I found Auriga and asked her where you were," he finished. The expression on his face essentially said, "Please don't kill me!" which Artemesia found rather fitting.

"I honestly don't know why I put up with you," Artemesia muttered. At least the lunatic seemed to be over whatever had caused him to act strangely. She then realized that for all intents and purposes he should have not been able to stand, much less run around Hogwarts like a headless chicken as he had been. Looking up, Artemesia demanded, "How the hell did you get here, anyway? Weren't you half-dead yesterday? You shouldn't even be conscious, much less hyperactive!" Shaking her head, Artemesia continued, "If Vesta knew what you've been up to, she'd throttle you for even thinking about walking so soon. Oh, and I suspect that your daughter has disowned you for that lovely performance today in the Great Hall. Surpassed both the Orange _and_ Purple Exploding Cauldron Incidents."

"Everyone talked like Shakespeare, and I astrally projected myself as the Cheshire cat?" Terry demanded, seemingly horrified by the thought, which made Artemesia realize he did not remember much of what he had done under the influence of whatever had happened. "Dear God, I thought she would have started to use less effective pain medication over the years, what with that spectacular track record," he mentioned, half talking to himself. Terry had noticed that he had yet to answer Artemesia's question, so he continued without waiting for an answer, "I just lost a lot of blood, that's all, and, sure, the pain was a little intense this time, but there was nothing permanent. So, after she gave me the Blood-Rejuvenating Potion, Poppy was going to ive me some painkillers, but I hadn't been able to tell her about the potion the Blood-Rejuvenating potion negatively reacted with. She wants me to stay awake for a while longer, but when I crash, I'm going to be stuck here for a while."

"Which means that this is a temporary high point for you, and once you pass out, you're going to sleep like the dead for a couple days," Artemesia summarized. Now, she couldn't send him back to the Hospital Wing knowing he would be trapped there for about a week, especially if Poppy had let him out. Sighing, Artemesia said, "Terry, I understand that you really do not want to go back, but you do realize that the longer that you stay outside of the Hospital Wing, the longer you will have to stay there, so the more angry that your… let's call them employers, will be with you when you return?"

Terry grimaced but replied, "I don't particularly care what they think. They're already pissed off, and I went to Hogwarts instead of somewhere normal, like St. Mungo's, so I'm screwed anyway." Shaking his head, he continued, "Plus, the longer I'm incapacitated, the longer they'll keep from trying to hurt Vesta to send a message."

Artemesia was taken aback. "What? They found you out?" she demanded. This news was the worst she'd heard in a long—well, since she heard Voldemort came back to life. If the Death Eaters knew who Terry was—She couldn't bear to think about it. She looked at him in concern and suddenly exclaimed, although quietly so, "You aren't wearing the glamours!"

Terry snorted. "It's not worth it anymore, Artemesia. Since Bellatrix knows, there's no point in hiding now. No one seems to recognize me anyway," he replied, brooding. Artemesia knew he was more nervous than he seemed, if his hand-wringing was anything to go by. Artemesia didn't blame him. In fact, she was pretty damn worried, too. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to go after her cousin for the simple fact that Terry had hidden his identity. Artemesia did not blame Terry for that, either. It was hard to blame the man when he looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Aside from the danger to Vesta, he was under an inordinate amount of pressure, which was vastly unfair for all those involved.

"But what about—" Artemesia started to protest before realizing that there was no reason for her to bring it up. There was no doubt that the problem was not very likely to come up, if recent events were anything to go by. She supposed that disappointed Terry on one level. After all, it was pretty pathetic that almost no one he had known recognized him in the slightest. Of course, for all Artemesia knew, that might be a bit of a lie, judging by some people's behavior. Finally, she said, "You mean to say that no one at all, aside from me, has recognized you?"

"Nope. No one," Terry confirmed bitterly. He looked off to the side, irritated at himself or maybe certain former friends. After a moment, he amended a bit sadly, "Well, maybe _one_ person, but she is unlikely to tell anyone anytime soon, if I know her well enough. Still know her well enough, I mean."

Artemesia nodded. She supposed that if someone did recognize Terry, then he would be better off in terms of mental health, but he would be much worse off in a conducive-to-living sort of way, even if his best friend was the one who recognized him. Well, maybe it would be fine if his (former) best friend knew, and Terry did not seem too upset that "she" knew. However, there were some circumstances that prompted Artemesia to ask, "In that case, are you going to tell—"

"No," Terry responded quickly and resolutely. "I'm not. It's too dangerous. I can't; you know that. All my superiors would collectively blow a gasket." He glared at the table and continued, "If they had let me then, I swear to God I—" Terry cut himself off and just shook his head. Looking back up at Artemesia, he made an attempt to smile and said agreeably, "Just forget it, Arty. Really. Look, I'm sorry I brought it up." With more of a genuine smile he said jokingly, "Have a nice time with your loser boyfriend, all right?"

"You know, I can't decide whether you're suicidal or just plain stupid," a third interjected good-naturedly into the conversation. Sirius was standing off to the side of Terry with a rather amused look on his face, while Terry looked caught between surprised, horrified, and quite proud of himself. Continuing, Sirius said, "Then again, judging by your recent escapades, I'd have to say both. Why the hell aren't you in the Hospital Wing?"

"I escaped," Terry replied shortly, narrowing his eyes. Artemesia felt a headache coming on. This was not going to end well. She remembered _that_ well enough. All too well, as a matter of fact. "No thanks to you and Severus. Why couldn't you have just left me in the library?"

"And let the school think someone let a bloody leopard in? Fat chance!"

"Hey, accidents happen! I could have just as easily been a hapless fifth-year who screwed up a transfiguration! It's happened before! _Certain_ people know that from personal experience!"

"Well, Madame Pince would have a heart attack, not to mention the first-years, and Pomfrey would murder me for letting you roam free!"

"Well, that's nothing new, is it?"

The two were now glaring daggers at each other, and Artemesia wanted to slap both of them upside the head or find some aspirin. Both would be rather nice, and both options were equally about as likely to happen, which is to say very unlikely. It was true that she was more irritated at Terry for being so stubborn, but Sirius wasn't exempt from her ire as he managed to lower himself to Terry's current level of immaturity. All Artemesia had wanted was a nice, quiet evening, but, no, her idiot-in-law had to start a fight with her idiot colleague, whom she wished for the first time in quite a long time would grow up. This was not the time for either of them to act like immature teenagers. Honestly, did exile and Azkaban do _nothing_?

Taking advantage of her distraction, the two men almost started a fistfight, which led to Artemesia grabbing Terry by the collar and saying, "Look. Here's what's going to happen. Terry, you're going to calm down and go sit at the bar until you decide that staying is what you typically refer to as a 'Bad Idea.'" Turning to the other, she ordered, "Sirius, apologize. Then we'll have dinner. If Terry's still here by the time we leave, I'll help you drag him off to Madame Pomfrey." She looked between the two of them. "Agreed?" she demanded. Both of them nodded (they thankfully knew when to back out of a fight), and Artemesia said, "Good."

After a grumbled apology from both sides, Terry slunk off towards the bar, and Sirius sat down at the table, looking rather sheepish, although he obviously was unrepentant, as he then complained, "What the hell is wrong with that man?"

Artemesia chuckled and shook her head. Grinning, she replied, "I've known him for eleven years, and he still makes no sense." Sometimes, that was, but Sirius was right that Terry had more than a few screws loose recently, hence why Artemesia said eleven years instead of twenty-two. Prewar Terry was much different than Postwar Terry, and now she was thinking about him in terms usually reserved for before and after the World Wars. Great. In somewhat of a non sequitur, she then wondered, "Is insanity contagious?" It certainly would explain why the Hogwarts staff was renowned for its 'eccentricities,' as one Durmstrang teacher had informed her the year before. (The Beauxbatons Arithmancy professor had been less tactful).

Sirius seemed to be considering the question quite seriously. He would probably know best, and not for the reasons most would assume. The Gryffindor class of 1978 was a veritable madhouse. "I don't think so," he replied thoughtfully. "After all, Remus is still sane, and Lily… well, you know." He smiled nervously.

_That_ was an adjective that Artemesia rarely applied to Sirius Black. Nervous. What did she expect, though? He had obviously drawn the conclusion that this may or may not be a date, and since he seemed to be an expert at making his life implode, that conclusion made him overanalyze her invitation. It would also explain why he and Terry had a nonsensical argument. "Of course," she replied good-naturedly. "Well, I just had to ask. Otherwise, I think we're doomed to go mad. Terry could start an epidemic."

Sirius seemed to relax a bit and rejoined wryly, "I thought we infected him, what with Auriga's madcap ideas about closets and other things in general and … Have you ever found out why Dumbledore has such strange taste in clothes? I've been wondering about that since we were first-years. I mean, at least McGonagall's tartans aren't…" He trailed off, realizing that he was essentially speaking nonsense.

Artemesia started laughing and said, "Oh, no. Don't stop on my account!" Smiling and looking at him pointedly, she continued, "Sirius, I'd have gone crazy long ago if madness was communicable." Artemesia thanked her lucky stars that they were managing to keep up with the light banter. The conversation—dinner—would be so much more painful if they ended up going off onto topics better left alone. Actually, she kind of wished they would get farther away from the topic of Terry, which was a can of worms she wished vehemently to avoid opening. Now that she took the time to notice, Sirius looked much better and far healthier than he had even at the beginning of the year. The job agreed with him, even if he would rather be working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Then again, maybe he had finally found his niche? He had loved being an Auror, but the job had been visibly affecting him. His breakdowns in the last year of the war were inevitable. Artemesia had known something was coming, but she had not thought the results would be so devastating for all of them.

"God, 'Sia, you're so beautiful," Sirius murmured. Artemesia's train of thought halted at that. Had he meant to say that out loud? Judging by the fact that Sirius then looked horrified, she determined he had not meant to say what he had. That didn't mean he didn't _mean_ what he had said, just that he had not meant to speak. Incredibly flustered, Sirius made an attempt to salvage the situation and corrected, "Well—I—Uh—I didn't—out loud—didn't mean—not—You _are_, but I didn't…" Looking down at the table embarrassedly, he silenced himself to keep from digging himself into a deeper hole. He obviously wasn't at his most eloquent. Sirius appeared unable to explain away his comment. Artemesia was also well aware of the fact that she was trying to avoid the fact that she thought it was sweet how flustered he was. She would have let it pass, after all, and it was so much like him to—

No. She couldn't let this happen. If she let him know she still… No. Was she wearing some sappy, lovesick look on her face, too? (And she was not admitting that she knew he felt the same way as her.) This was not happening. On the bright side, at least Umbridge wasn't around and Terry had so far managed to not—

"Get a room for Merlin's sake!"

Sighing, Artemesia decided that she could kill her brother-in-law later. She had more important things on her mind right then. Specifically how to salvage—Was she imagining things, or was Sirius blushing?

* * *

The exclamation had the desired effect, as far as Rosmerta could tell, anyway. Mr. White was certainly a character. Few others (even the regulars) would have dared shout something such as that at Artemesia Vector or Sirius Black, especially if they knew how touchy the former could get. No one needed warning about the latter, although he generally took that sort of thing much better. Rosmerta was aware, however, that the reason the comment had such an effect was because of the two's history. She wished that Mr. White would be a little less subtle. Those two were going to drive each other insane if they weren't careful.

Mr. White was right, though, even if it was understandable. Artemesia and Sirius were rather sappy. The young man was sitting in front of her; she wondered how he was still up and about. He looked like the living dead, to be frank. She had overheard some of the conversation he had with Artemesia, and Rosmerta inferred that White should have been under Poppy's watchful eye instead of loafing around in the Three Broomsticks. In fact, it was somewhat suspicious that he hadn't even taken one sip of the firewhisky he had ordered. Rosmerta thought it interesting that he was on relatively good terms with both Artemesia and Sirius. She also had the sneaking suspicion White he might have been that relative of Artemesia's that the Arithmancy professor complained about with great frequency. He was amiable enough, but there was something that Rosmerta could not put her finger on that made her think that this young man could be the only person Artemesia could have referred to.

In any case, Mr. White reminded her of someone. He was probably just another of the students who had gone to Hogwarts and visited the Three Broomsticks as frequently as humanly possible. While on the younger side, she imagined that he was not much younger than Artemesia. He was polite and seemed kind, but she distrusted him a little. It might have been because she was still hesitant around anyone who conscientiously wore long sleeves. The reaction was a leftover from the old war. She was well aware who had been working for He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and who was working for Dumbledore or the Ministry. The Death Eaters always wore long-sleeved shirts or robes. The others varied their clothing. White didn't seem the type who was working for the Dark, though. He was too melancholy; that much was obvious. She could tell a sad drunk at a mile away. For example, Artemesia became much more relaxed and giggly. Sirius, on the other hand, was of the former type, like White.

Now that the two Hogwarts teachers had seemingly gone back to talking amiably (or, as Rosmerta liked to call it, _flirting_), White was staring sullenly at his glass of firewhisky. His posture was actually rather familiar, now that Rosmerta thought about it, but she reflected that his body language must have been an effect of the war. She could tell he had been in the last war. There was no doubt about that; all of the evidence pointed toward that conclusion. White suddenly softly laughed to himself before asking, "How long do you think it's going to take before the two of them realize they both want the same thing?"

He was obviously referring to the couple in the corner he had earlier delighted in bothering, so Rosmerta rolled her eyes. That was not exactly a new question, after all. Auriga routinely asked the exact same thing, because Rosmerta was apparently the expert on the matter. She was, but that was beside the point. She knew about those bets the professors had. The question was a bit different coming from the young man in front of her, however. He seemed genuinely interested, which meant that he probably was Artemesia's cousin's husband or whatever relation he was. Rosmerta had the feeling that Artemesia was a bit foggy on the matter as well. Trust males to go all protective when another stepped onto the scene, though. Sighing in exasperation, she decided to answer, "Seeing as it obviously took them at least seven years the first time around, I suspect they'll be lucky to find out this decade."

White observed the two a bit grimly before saying sincerely, "I hope it's sooner than later, for their sakes," and drinking some of the firewhisky. He was much more reserved when taken away from familiar surroundings It seemed (Rosmerta had already heard about the Great Hall Debacle from Minerva earlier in the day). Ironically enough, he was much more sober now that he had some alcohol in him. After sighing and turning back to stare dejectedly at his drink, White murmured, "I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing here. There's no reason that I shouldn't be in the Hospital Wing. Hell, I should have dragged myself off to St. Mungo's and not gone to Hogwarts. Why did I do that in the first place?"

Rosmerta raised an eyebrow. Somber mood? Check. Making sense? Somewhat. Tailspin into depression and angst? Check. This was a job for Super-Barmaid. Alas, she was not present, so Rosmerta would have to suffice. Besides, she did not have much else to do presently, seeing as there was a bit of a lull in business. Deciding to go on her hunch that the young man had been a customer in his school days and that he had had some business with Dumbledore, Rosmerta said, "Well, I suppose you thought of a place you knew was safe. Hogwarts is like that for most who've gone. As to why you aren't in the Hospital Wing, I can't help you. If it's any consolation, you only look half-dead and not mostly-dead."

"If I were mostly dead, then I suppose we'd have to go looking for a damned good apothecary," Terry joked darkly. He wasn't very cheerful when he said it. The tailspin seemed to be turning into a freefall. "Or a miracle worker. Can't bring back the dead, you know," he mentioned bitterly.

Well, that was a rather odd thing to say, Rosmerta thought. Obviously the man had some serious problems. There was probably a complex that dealt with whatever was wrong with him. She might have felt sorry for him if she knew what was eating away at him. She remembered how some students from back in the day had acted similarly when they had been on the verge of deciding whether or not to join the Death Eaters. There was a type, too. The Slytherin loner was the most popular of the minorities; others included the egomaniacal Ravenclaw and deluded Hufflepuff, which invariably decided against joining. The most popular had been the racist Slytherins, of course, but they weren't the ones that came and moped at the bar—tavern.

White disrupted her thoughts when he said, "I'm sorry. I'm not in my right mind right now. It's been a bad couple of days." He glanced back at the two Hogwarts professors. "I really hope they don't fuck up their second chance."

"Everyone feels the same way," Rosmerta commented. Granted, certain professors were waiting for the outcome of bets, and some wanted their sanity back. Still others had the same sentiments that White seemed to have. Rosmerta agreed with the final group. Those two did deserve to find happiness, even if they needed to get a room. "Are they dense?" she asked no one in particular after hearing some rather ridiculous dialogue.

"Possibly," White responded in a slightly scientific manner. "Those two particular individuals happen to have the most convoluted courtship rituals known to man."

Playing along, Rosmerta added, "At least they aren't repeating past behaviors." While she had meant their bickering, the thought that everything else was just as bad occurred to her. Although, she supposed this time many more Hogwarts students would be traumatized.

"If they were, my shout for them to get a room would not be unfounded. Seeing that once was enough, thank you very much," White agreed, shaking his head. He seemed cheerier, so Rosmerta was not surprised when White said shortly thereafter, "I think it's time I go back to the Hospital Wing and sleep like the dead for a week again." Smiling, he continued, "Thanks for suffering my oh-so-charming presence, Rosmerta. It was nice seeing you again."

He put his money down on the counter and left quietly. His behavior slightly puzzled Rosmerta because it was familiar. Had he been a regular in times past? Rosmerta thought she would have recalled him if he was. Then she remembered vaguely: _"Thanks for suffering my presence yet again, Rosmerta. I don't know when I'll come back, but…" He smiled sadly. "Keep the change," he said as he paid his bill. "G'bye…"_ She never saw him again. If Rosmerta remembered correctly, he had died two or three weeks later. She couldn't remember his name for the life of her, much less what he looked like, but Rosmerta had the feeling that he had been a good kid, even if he had possessed a penchant for wearing long sleeves.

Breaking out of her reverie, Rosmerta saw some more customers come in. Well, time to go back to work. Lovely: they were students. Hopefully the poor children wouldn't be too disturbed by their teachers. Merlin knew their contemporaries had been…

* * *

"…and can you believe what the Weasley twins have been up to? I think they're the worst of the lot," Artemesia said irritatedly. Thankfully, the conversation had returned to more normal subjects, like how insane the students were, after Terry's interjection. "Speaking of the Weasley twins, did you ever find out about those parchments?"

Sirius cringed. That was certainly not a good sign. After regaining a bit of his composure, he replied hesitantly, "Kind of. It's a list of bets, but that's what we thought it was in the first place. There's nothing much else it could be, seeing as the Death Eaters recruit in person, and Umbridge has neither been around long enough nor was present when the papers were first distributed for them to be the beginnings of a secret society intent on expelling her from the school." Sirius paused thoughtfully and decided, "We actually need one of those. Maybe I should suggest certain students start one…" He trailed off as he noticed Artemesia was waiting for him to return to the previous topic. Sirius explained, "Well, Remus, as I suspected, knew how to break the charms, but he wouldn't tell me the specifics, so at least one is about us. I honestly can't think of any other reason, especially considering how the Weasley twins have been stalking you. Last time I checked, they hated Arithmancy."

Artemesia rolled her eyes. Trust him to draw that conclusion. To be honest, it was a bit odd that the twins and Jordan were practically stalking her, and Gemma had told her about how those three would randomly skip meals to search every closet in the castle. Artemesia had absolutely no idea _why_ her daughter noticed these things, but she had to admit it was useful information under the current circumstances. "How do you know it's not just silly ideas the students invented?" she asked pointedly. "It could be nothing." Even if Gemma had been embarrassed about the contents of the parchment.

"Then Remus would have let me read the damn parchment," Sirius explained. "If the contents were something such as, say, that Moaning Myrtle would stop hitting on Harry or whatnot, then he would have told me, 'cause that's pretty amusing. However, Remus would avoid anything that hit a nerve, you know?"

"So the only thing that follows is that it's something about us," Artemesia finished. She had to admit his logic was reasonably sound, even if it was (at least in her mind) highly disturbing. If the conclusion were true, then the students had noticed their behavior, and if the students had noticed their strange behavior, then… Actually, she didn't need to worry. Sirius was not drawing the same conclusions as she did, even though he occasionally failed at flirting with her. In addition, the conclusion would explain Gemma's hesitation to talk about the parchment's contents.

"Well, that and the fact that Luna Lovegood deigned to inform me of what's written," Sirius admitted quickly, probably hoping that Artemesia would miss the fact that he had indeed said Luna Lovegood was his source of information. Artemesia had to admit that Luna was generally accurate, if one could decipher what she said, but Artemesia figured she had a right to be skeptical. However, Sirius then explained, "I wouldn't have believed her either, except she started flashing colors and sprouted rabbit ears. It was hard to take her seriously after that, even when she said that this stupid betting pool was not only started by the Weasley twins but that it was the reason why they've been running around the castle checking all of the closets."

Artemesia stared at him, wishing he would take it back, but Sirius just shrugged apologetically. "Couldn't the student body have found something more interesting to go on about?" she complained. There went her reputation as the _sane_ teacher. Hopefully no one believed the Weasley twins, Jordan, and Luna anymore. Actually, Luna supporting the argument meant fewer students would be willing to believe the Weasley twins.

"Like what?" Sirius asked and proceeded to justify the argument, "In the past four years at Hogwarts, there's been the philosopher's stone hidden on the third-floor corridor, a basilisk running amuck around the school, dementors hovering around thanks to me, and the Triwizard Tournament. This year's positively boring in comparison!" He grimaced and continued, "The only interesting shit going on is that I'm teaching and that Umbridge is going to conduct an external review of the faculty. What's going to happen that will be so exciting aside from White running around the castle like a lunatic or, apparently, our love lives?"

"The Death Eaters are active again," Artemesia reminded him. It was rather pathetic, she reflected, what lengths she would go to in order to avoid the subject of their failed romance. Sighing, she admitted, "Maybe you're right, though. The students probably just focusing on small, random, and inconsequential things so they don't have to consider the war, even if none of them are old enough to really remember much, if any, of it."

Sirius was glaring at the table and said darkly, "They shouldn't have to worry." Artemesia thought about waiting for him to continue and letting him sort through all the emotions that went along with what had happened. If he insisted on thinking himself into a depression, Artemesia would have dragged him off to Madame Pomfrey and have her confine him to the Hospital Wing until he sorted out his mental issues. Well, as sorted out as his issues could be. Luckily, Sirius continued, "At least we'll have the upper hand this time. We—the Aurors know who many of the high ranking Death Eaters are, and the majority of those are escaped convicts, so it's not like they can do anything under the radar." Artemesia noticed that Sirius still (at least unconsciously) considered himself to be part of the Aurors; she had heard that he routinely made the same mistake with the pronoun in class. He smiled grimly and continued, "There's no way Bellatrix can wreak as much havoc now as she did in the past. Sure, it was pretty damn obvious that she was a Death Eater, even then, but now she neither has access to her vaults (well, easy access to her vaults) nor 'Good Society' to fall back on for an alibi." Realizing what he was saying, Sirius shook his head and said wretchedly, "God, I can't believe I'm even thinking about her pathetic alibis. It's bloody obvious she'd be doing that shit now, but… Fuck, it's the law, you know?"

Artemesia smiled sympathetically. She hated seeing him like this. The subject matter made it worse. It was hard to believe, on one level, that Sirius was even considering how much evidence was needed to convict his cousin of murder. She was well aware that most witches and wizards thought he would have just given her the same sentence she gave her victims, but that wasn't the way his mind worked. Of course, the fact that he was considering Bellatrix made everything worse. To Artemesia's knowledge, Sirius had always been under the impression that Bellatrix had been the one who executed his brother. "I'm sure by the end of all this, she'll be back in Azkaban where she belongs," Artemesia said soothingly.

Sirius nodded mutely before looking up and apologizing, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't go off on these damn tangents. Can't be good for me, and I'm sure you don't enjoy them much, either."

Artemesia shook her head. "No, it's okay," she reassured him, wishing he would be less self-deprecating. Artemesia knew he thought terrible things about himself. She remembered his downward spiral from the last war all too well. "Honestly, Sirius, you can't just keep all of this bottled up," she continued earnestly. "We both know you can't take that kind of pressure. I know—I know you don't want to talk about any of it, but you do need to say it, even if you talk to—" Artemesia hesitated to think of the worst person imaginable and finished, "Terry, even."

"I think I'd sooner shoot myself in the foot," Sirius replied in a deadpan. "No offense to your cousin, but her husband is in need of a keeper. How in the hell has he made it to—how old is he?"

"Thirty-four this November," Artemesia answered automatically.

"Right," Sirius said, not missing a beat. "How has he gotten that old? Also, why does he work for who he does? Isn't it the worst possible vocation for him?" Artemesia shrugged in reply. She routinely asked herself the same questions, but she knew the answers and would not be sharing them. There was a breif lull in the conversation until Sirius said quietly, "I think I'd rather talk to you, if that's all right." He looked vaguely irritated at himself for asking, even if he knew he should.

Artemesia considered the circumstances for a moment. She could suggest Remus as a better alternative, and Sirius would go talk to him instead. However, she did want him to talk to her, even if they did have awkward conversations and bordering on the physically painful to bear witness to, which they would both be the first to admit, so her only course of action was to reply, "I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't mean it, Sirius."

He smiled wanly and murmured, "Thank you."

The conversation was markedly easier for the rest of the night.

* * *

_**Notes**: You know, I was trying to post on time, but I am no longer stuck on chapter 31. Thank you all for reading and a big thank you to everyone who reviewed!  
_

_**Coming soon**: Nobody expects the Hogwarts Inquisition, during which Auriga emphatically does not talk about Death Eaters and Sirius finds his leather pants._


	22. No One Expects the Unexpected

Auriga was in despising-mode. She did not want to see Umbridge at eight-thirty in the morning. She especially did not want to see the pink-clad lunatic at eight-thirty in the morning as she taught the Hufflepuff and Slytherin first-years. Auriga thanked God, Merlin, and whomever else was listening for the fact that Astronomy was split up in this fashion. Furthermore, she did not want to do any of the above without her coffee. What had she done to deserve this punishment? Auriga could not divine the cause. She had not locked anyone in closets recently, and her karma was therefore decent.

So. Why was she the first to suffer under the Hogwarts Inquisition? Fine, so she was just the first of four that day to suffer, but it was the principle of the matter. Alas, it was also not in the first-year curriculum to deal with black holes, which were so massive that nothing, not even light, could escape, so Auriga couldn't draw parallels between certain people and their egos and those rather horrifying, collapsed stars. The only interesting thing she could possibly do would be to go over constellations out of order and pick the most interesting to discuss. Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. She could talk about myths unsuitable for children and segue into Death Eaters, which was guaranteed to be a laugh a minute. It was absolutely perfect to distract herself from Umbridge.

Auriga cackled madly for a moment before straightening out her notes on the desk in the front of the room and waiting for her students to come. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was five minutes to class-time, which would explain why a Slytherin student had entered the classroom and was staring her down. Auriga found the girl to be slightly annoying, but she was punctual and intelligent when she deigned to apply herself. Why did no one take Auriga seriously?

The girl was staring at her like Auriga was insane. Maybe Auriga had spoken that last bit out-loud? Oops. However, it would not do for her first-years to be disillusioned about her sanity so soon, so Auriga said, "How are you this morning, Miss White?" as kindly as possible.

The snotty little Slytherin, which Auriga had the feeling she should know from elsewhere replied, "I'm doing fine. How are you, Professor?" There was something wrong with the universe. After all, why would Auriga ever ask anyone that?

"Good, thank you," Auriga replied conversationally before going back to seething about the impending Umbridge-ness that was to descend upon them all. The Slytherin girl was still staring at her like she was a creature from another planet. Sighing irritatedly, Auriga asked, "What is it, Miss White?"

"Are we really going over something as tame as the Boötes today?" the Slytherin asked with a hint of irritation to her voice. She obviously did not want to hear about that particular constellation. "The Herdsman's all well and good, but all that's interesting about it is that he has two dogs that are not the ones everyone can pick out in the sky, is driving Ursa Major, and has the star Arcturus in it. It may be the fourth brightest star in the sky, but it's boring."

Auriga stared at the girl. It was a good thing she wasn't part of Sirius' family if she found astronomy boring. Granted, Auriga seemed to remember the current Defense teacher slept through Astronomy back in the day. "Boring or not, you'll have to learn it," Auriga reminded her. She had actually forgot that she was going over Boötes. Oh, well.

The girl looked slightly annoyed but did not continue in that vein, which was nice, and more students started to trickle in. A Hufflepuff boy sat next to the Slytherin girl, who looked a bit more annoyed with the boy for doing so. Why did this seem so familiar? Auriga considered for a moment, ignoring how the Slytherin essentially pushed the Hufflepuff out of the seat and how the Hufflepuff just grinned and went to go sit with his friends. Of course! The girl was Arty's niece! How could she have forgotten that? Really.

Upon thinking, Auriga remembered that meant that the girl's father was the nutter in the Hospital Wing. Lovely. No wonder the girl was easily irritated. If Auriga had a father like that, she would certainly be embarrassed of him. Actually, now that she thought about it, wasn't the Hufflepuff boy the girl's brother? That was right.

It didn't matter, in any case, because Umbridge walked in and sat down in the back of the classroom. Auriga wished she could induce spontaneous combustion by glaring. Alas, only Snape seemed capable of that feat, even if Sirius was immune. The two Slytherins two years down from them that had essentially followed Snape around everywhere back when they were in school were, too. Snape had referred to them as the remedial potions students. One of them actually ended up taking NEWT potions. He probably failed those classes, too. Some people. Actually, that reminded her…

Hoping that her smile did not make her look like she was about to eat someone's soul,

Auriga began class. "Well, I know we were going to go over Boötes today, but because of certain scheduling issues and popular demand, we aren't," she started. The first-years had no clue what she was talking about and looked rather terrified at the prospect. "I know you all have been asking me to go over this particular constellation for the entire school year thus far, but I had planned on sticking to the syllabus. However, I realized that maybe just discussing it would be wiser."

Auriga waved her wand at the lights to dim them, at the screen for the slide projector so it would go down, and put the correct slide in the projector. The familiar constellation of the Hunter appeared on the screen. Sirius was going to kill her, absolutely murder her. Auriga cackled mentally. "As you can all see, this is the constellation Orion," she informed them. "This constellation has eight stars in it, as you can see. The Belt, one of the most recognizable star groups, is composed of three stars lined up in the middle—" She indicated them with a red light spell she had borrowed from the Muggle idea of a laser pointer. Very useful, those were. "—Zeta, Epsilon, and Delta Orionis, from left to right. Their traditional names are Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka." Auriga switched the slide to one that was less close up and explained, "In order to find its neighbors by using this constellation, Orion's Belt points up to Aldebaran—I should remind you again that it is not to be confused with Alderaan, thank you very much. I've heard that too frequently over the years. As you should also remember, Aldebaran is a star in Taurus." And now to create a motive for murder: "If you follow the stars in the opposite direction, you will find the alpha star of Canis Major." Now, the students would do the work for he. Apparently the Hufflepuff boy was feeling unknowingly suicidal. "Yes, Mr. White?" Auriga asked.

"What's the alpha star of Canis Major?"

"Why, thank you for asking, Mr. White. It's actually the star Sirius, which you might remember is Professor Black's first name. His family has a habit of naming their children after stars and constellations, which results in some amusing initials, again in the case of Professor Black, seeing as his middle name is Orion," Auriga replied. Hopefully one or two of the students would figure out what she was getting at. At least she hadn't gone and mentioned that Sirius' brother's initials spelled out "bar" when written backwards. He had always been proud of that. She started, "In any case—" but now the Slytherin girl had a question. "Yes, Miss White? What is it?"

"Why would someone name their children after stars? Aren't there some really demented ones?" the girl asked, not understanding why anyone would do such a thing. Auriga, quite frankly, didn't know either, but that was neither here nor there. "Like Betelgeuse? Who would inflict their child with the name Betelgeuse?"

"Well, the answer to your first question is complicated. Yes, Betelgeuse is a terrible name, but I think one of Professor Black's uncles is named that," Auriga informed them. That might keep Sirius from really wanting to murder her. If she remembered correctly, he hated his uncle vehemently. She continued, "However, your brother is named Leo, no? Leo is a constellation. In fact, the name Regulus isn't too bad, and that, as you all know, is the alpha star of Leo." Actually, maybe it was a bad idea if she went down that path. Sirius was probably still very touchy about his brother, and if she kept going, someone was going to ask. "As I was saying, however, there are five other stars in the constellation Orion, aside from the belt. The tip of the sword here is Iota Orionis and is called—" Another student, a male Slytherin this time, raised his hand. Auriga wondered what it was with all of the questions today. "Yes, Mr. Smith? What is it?"

"I don't get it. What's funny about initials being S.O.B.?" the first year asked, eyes wide and obviously confused. Auriga suddenly felt a rush of sympathy for the poor boy.

That, however, was gone when she realized what the child was asking her. "Ask a friend after class," she told him. After all, it would not be a good thing if she informed a class of first years _that_ in front of the Pink Monstrosity. Actually, the Pink Monstrosity did not seem to think that Auriga was bollixing up the class too much. The woman probably enjoyed hearing Auriga make fun of Sirius. Well, Auriga could find it funny, but the Pink Monstrosity had no right. "If _that's_ all…" Auriga said, looking around the room, daring any more students to speak up. None seemed to want to, which was all well and good, so Auriga resumed yet again, "So, the remaining three stars in the lower half of the constellation Orion are Rigel (Beta Orionis), Saiph (Kappa Orionis), and Eta Orionis, which is between Rigel and Mintaka." She pointed to each of the stars as she mentioned them. "So, Rigel, which would be Orion's left knee, is one of the brightest stars in the sky with a magnitude of 0.12. Above the belt is another very bright star: Betelgeuse, as we have mentioned previously. Despite being Alpha Orionis, Betelgeuse, the right shoulder of Orion, is in fact dimmer than Rigel. Lambda Orionis, Meissa, is further to our right and signifies Orion's head. The final star of the Orion constellation is Gamma Orionis, the left shoulder. Bellatrix, as we normally call Gamma Orionis, is—_What is it, Miss White?_"

"Isn't Bellatrix the name of someone? Is she related to Professor—"

"Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange's maiden name is Black. They're weird. May I continue?" Auriga replied shortly. This was not a topic she wanted to explore at all. She was about to continue with her lecture until she realized that the other Slytherin, Smith, had another question. "Yes, Mr. Smith? What is it this time?" Auriga demanded. She was starting to lose her patience with these children. They were possibly even more irritating than the years below her when she had gone to Hogwarts. The fifths were particularly annoying. Loons, the lot of them.

"Who's Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"No! We are not talking about more Death Eaters, all right?" Auriga exclaimed. Honestly. Of course, maybe— "What do you mean, you don't know who Bellatrix Lestrange is?" Auriga demanded, interrupting her own thoughts. Something then occurred to her. "Oh, you're Muggle-born, aren't you? I'm sorry," she apologized and explained, "She's You-Know-Who's right-hand man. Woman. Thing. Whatever you want to call her. So, that's enough of that, all right? No objections? Good. Continuing…"

* * *

The next morning, Professor Minerva McGonagall wondered how in the name of Merlin's underthings the Ministry had managed to pass a law allowing this pink monstrosity to darken (brighten?) the doorstep of one of the most illustrious magic schools in Europe. She also wondered why young Auriga was sitting calmly, waiting for Dolores Umbridge to come in and criticize her teaching style. Minerva was under no delusions about how Dolores (curse her and her pink clothing!) would react to Auriga. It took a certain type of person to understand Auriga's brilliance, which rarely manifested as eloquence or Transfiguration, and Dolores was certainly not one of them. Granted, how Dolores would react to Minerva's other three colleagues was guaranteed to be much more… intriguing.

Auriga was sitting confidently in her chair, dressed normally with her hair in the disordered chaos that she typically kept it in. She kept glancing around, so Minerva knew that Auriga was not as placid as she attempted to appear. Minerva wondered what exactly had happened in class that had made Auriga be as nervous as she appeared or was trying not to appear. Well, at least Auriga was there in order to face what came.

The pink-clad civil servant sat in the center seat of the table across from Auriga and in between Minerva and Albus, who looked as placid as ever. Minerva would bet a galleon that he was privately amused by it all, especially considering the wardrobe choices made by some colleagues. She had no doubt that one such decision was made more out of necessity than choice, judging by the fact that those trousers had definitely been worn yesterday.

Dolores made that insufferable clearing-her-throat noise that was definitely not normal as a call to attention. She opened the first of the four manila folders she had set down on the table and looked over the contents with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. After skimming what she needed to, Dolores took off her glasses and faced Auriga down, staring at the young Astronomy teacher very seriously. Sighing, Dolores began, "Miss Sinistra, it became apparent yesterday that while you know your subject very well, your teaching style is horrendous. You repeatedly become sidetracked in class and cannot keep even eleven-year-olds under control. Not only could you not give one class without the mention of no less than four Death Eaters, the information you gave was scattered and little of it pertained to the first-year curriculum laid down by the Ministry!"

"Actually," Auriga interjected with a saccharine smile, "I only mentioned two Death Eaters and a pureblood curmudgeon." From her right, three coworkers were staring at her with raised eyebrows. "I was going over Orion," she explained. One coworker nodded and presumably wished for some asprin, a second rolled his eyes, and the third looked rather confused as to how a second Death Eater had come up. Granted, he probably figured one of the four to which Dolores had referred was him.

Dolores glared at Auriga and chastized, "Do not interrupt me, young lady! I had not even gotten to your ridiculous theme for the semester! Not only do you require that first-years read a book completely outside the Ministry's approved textbook list, it happens to be a work of Muggle fiction that encourages truancy and insubordination! All of the adults presented within the book are terrible, and all the children are allowed to roam free and fight the order that the adults are trying to enforce! Furthermore, there is almost no mention of astronomy in it whatsoever, if I had heard correctly from my source!"

Sighing frustratedly, Auriga then explained, "Madame Umbridge, I begin the semester with a discussion of that book so that the children will become interested in the stars. I got the idea from an old friend who once mentioned to me that no one ever really just sat down and watched the stars anymore. Students were always looking around to one-up their classmates or bully them or get the best marks or get the girl. None of them ever just sat around and appreciated that there were entire other worlds out there. Granted, he was melancholy because our childhoods were overshadowed by the war with You-Know-Who, but the idea stuck with me. I figured that the students would connect with the book and therefore be more interested in the stars. If you have a reason to be interested in the placement of stars or the names of stars, then you are more likely to pay attention in astronomy. Also, I haven't had a student complain yet about reading _Peter Pan_."

Minerva likened the ensuing stare-down to something out of a spaghetti western, many of which her brother had forced her to see, with Auriga as the white-hat and Dolores as the bounty hunter all kitted out in pink instead of black. No, Minerva was never going to let that go. It was Dolores' own fault in any case. Elaine had told Dolores that she should not have put the reds in with the whites, but did Dolores listen? No. What would be the point of that? All of their socks! All of their socks! Pink! It was a crime, that's what it was! Dolores should have left the laundry to the house elves!

Predictably, Dolores broke first. It was a veritable law of the jungle. If you stared down a supposedly more powerful individual, you became the dominant one. Hem-hemming, Dolores admitted her defeat, "Well, Professor Sinistra, I believe aside from how you choose to spend valuable classtime discussing a Muggle book, there is little I can recommend for you to change. While yesterday you did mention some rather unsavory characters, I suppose I could put it down to nerves. Continue teaching as you will."

Auriga nodded acceptingly, no doubt noticing how Minerva gave her the smallest smile, which as good as indicated extreme joy at seeing Dolores taken down a notch. There was amusement to come, there was no doubt, even if it took a glowing report on Severus's teaching to get there. Granted, Severus despised Dolores, but it was neither here nor there. Albus also looked to be rather amused by the turn of events.

Auriga vacated her seat and sat off to the left. Severus replaced her in the hot seat, looking unperturbed for all the world. Then the completely unexpected happened, and Minerva herself was surprised. Young Sirius looked incredibly stunned, but that was nothing new (she still remembered the case of the fox with the stained glass window). However, it was not every day that Severus Snape smiled. He seemed to be rather irritated by the fact that he was acting the brownnoser. That young man was very good at acting, Minerva knew, but it was disturbing how ingratiating he could be sometimes. If Minerva were to be wholly honest with herself, Severus looked like he was going to "eat someone's soul," as the Weasley twins would put it. Regardless, were the Ministry to decide that Albus was unfit for his job, then it was necessary for at least one member of the faculty aside from Pomona to be capable of dialogue with Dolores. Severus drew the short straw. (Actually, Binns did, but he had forgotten what it was for rather quickly and given it to Severus, who had always despised Binns a little for thinking his name to be Septimus Warren Smith.)

The ensuing dialogue was not worth remembering. Severus played the sycophant nicely, and Dolores ate it up. She approved of Severus' teaching style in any case, so there had not been anything to worry about. When the conversation was over, Minerva realized that she had never before seen Severus look so disgusted with himself. He did not even shoot Sirius a dirty look when he gave up the chair and sat down on the opposite side of Auriga. Sirius, of course, was completely blasé about the whole situation. Minerva was not quite sure how anyone could be that calm while wearing those trousers, but it took all kinds. Maybe Sirius had been unable to extract himself from the leather trousers… Minerva could still not comprehend why anyone would wear something that skin-tight if there were some doubt that one would be able to take them off. Then again, Sirius might have just been wearing them in order to infuriate Dolores. Those were sentiments with which Minerva could completely sympathize and approve. Minerva really did hope that he had not annoyed the pink harpy too much. She actually found it pleasant to have him around again, and while he certainly didn't need the money, Sirius did need a task to do other than Order business.

Sirius was leaning back in the chair as he was wont to do in these situations, and Dolores was looking through all of the reams of notes she had taken during his class. That certainly did not bode well. Minerva knew for a fact that Dolores was one of the most spiteful women on the planet, and the amount of notes certainly meant she did not approve of Sirius at all. The Transfiguration professor wondered exactly what one of the brightest students she had ever taught had done to infuriate the bureaucrat so. Actually, there were too many things she could think of that he had done, from lecturing on delicate subjects to turning Dolores into a pink monkey. In all honesty, Minerva might have paid him to do the latter. He was certainly skilled enough in Tranfiguration.

Finally, with her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, Dolores looked up at Sirius in a grave manner and hem-hemmed. Sirius paid the noise no mind and continued examining the pattern on the ceiling, testing how far he could lean back in the chair before gravity won. Dolores hem-hemmed again. He likewise ignored that. She repeated her action, and Sirius fell backwards. He calmly righted the chair and sat himself back down. With a puzzled look, Sirius asked with absolutely no sincerity, "Do you need a cough drop?"

Dolores was a little surprised by his question but fought fire with fire and replied sweetly, "No, thank you. I'm fine." Becoming much more sinister when she realized he was going to resume ignoring her, Dolores continued, "Mr. Black, I am sure that you are aware that I found your behavior in the classroom to be most unsatisfactory." Sirius refrained from leaning back in the chair and stared at Dolores boredly. If she wanted him to pay attention, he would pretend to pay attention. "Not only did you break the school dress code, but you lectured on topics that the Ministry certainly does not approve of. Your conduct in the classroom was horrendous; you swear like an Auror—" Severus stifled a snort at that, Minerva noticed. It was a rather idiotic comment, after all. "—and you talk to the students like they were old enough to understand the delicate politics associated with this current war! Not only that, you discuss all sorts of Dark magic and encourage the children to make up their own minds about what is right."

If Minerva were to translate the rant, it sounded like Sirius was not doing a half bad job. To be truthful, she had heard about Sirius's nasty habit of forgetting that he was indeed talking to children (the last time Minerva had needed to explain what relatively harmless slang meant to a first-year was painful enough, let alone explaining the etymology of various four-letter words). She found it encouraging that she had taught her former students well, however. It was a good sign that at least these four had enough sense to despise Dolores based on legitimate grounds. Severus obviously despised the Ministry flunky based simply on the fact he was required to be obsequious to her in order to get any work done; Auriga despised her on principle while muttering about feminist theory; and Sirius loathed the woman because… Well, his patience was not approaching infinite. Minerva would go as far to say that it was approaching infinitesimal. Artemesia likewise detested Dolores on a more personal level, but she would complain about the same things Auriga would. Those two had a knack for thinking similarly. Minerva reflected that side effect of Ravenclaw solidarity was not bad in this case. After all, despising Dolores seemed to be able to do something that a thousand years time had not accomplished: causing all the houses to agree. Minerva counted Auriga as a Hufflepuff-in-spirit. More impressive was the fact that it had convinced Sirius and Severus to work together against a common enemy besides Voldemort.

Oddly, though, Sirius was just calmly sitting in the chair opposite Dolores, watching her placidly. Minerva would have thought he would have talked back by now. She certainly had enough experience in the chastising field to know that there should have been some sort of snarky retort by then or at least an argument in his defense. How strange. Of course, this was Sirius Black. In the past, calmness of this degree always forewarned of a tempest on the horizon. Anticlimactic civil disobedience had occurred rarely, but in this situation would be so much more enjoyable. "Furthermore," Dolores continued, sensing that there would be no expected angry reply, "the matter of the material you covered in class is paramount. As I mentioned, you did not follow the Ministry guidelines. The point of a school is that the students learn to defend themselves against banned spells, not that they actually learn the spells the Ministry considers illegal. It is an outrage that you use that terrible textbook to teach the seventh years, but I consider you to be completely irresponsible for allowing them to practice in the classroom!" Sirius continued to stare placidly.

"Those seventh years were completely out of control!" Dolores exclaimed, and Minerva realized that the woman must have been genuinely angry, God only knew about what. Dolores could have been angry about anything from the way Sirius was refusing to pay attention to the fact he had no respect for the Pink One. The possibilities were absolutely endless. Oh, Dolores was speaking again: "The class descended into utter chaos, and if you were a decent teacher, you could have prevented that! I'm sure that that terrible music did not help matters in the slightest, seeing as you deigned to put on some of the most morally bankrupt noise I have ever had the misfortune of hearing."

"If I may interject, Madame Umbridge, what music did Sirius have playing?" Albus inquired. Minerva had the urge to crawl under the table and hide, but she suppressed the impulse and continued to sit in her seat and look disapproving.

"Some nonsense about leather boots," Dolores replied irritatedly. At that, Severus was unimpressed, Auriga looked puzzled, and Artemesia pretended she did not know any of them. Minerva failed to see what was so wrong. Sirius' facial expression had not changed in the slightest, so the music could not have been that bad.

"Ah, I am familiar with that music and found that prarticular piece of work enjoyable," Albus mentioned offhandedly. He managed to shock the younger faculty with those few sentences. Sirius looked a little surprised, but Severus looked slightly horrified. Auriga's right eye was twitching, so obviously she had identified the music. Artemesia was still pretending she was elsewhere.

"Whatever you say, Headmaster," Dolores said condescendingly, as if Albus had the IQ of a newt. Turning her attention back to Sirius, Dolores resumed, "As I was saying, regardless of one's taste in music, having any sort of music playing in a class where dangerous spells are flying around is not only distracting to the students but hazardous for all those involved. If the Ministry were running the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, there would be no practicing of spells in class. The classroom is meant to be a safe environment for learning, not a war zone. Even a spell such as the Patronus Charm should not be cast so haphazardly. Think of the possible ways that the spell could backfire!" Minerva restrained herself from hexing Dolores. There _was no possible way_ for the Patronus Charm to backfire. If that was what Sirius had told the seventh-years to practice, then there was no reason for Dolores to complain. In all honesty, the man probably put the music on to annoy the bureaucrat and, to a lesser degree, create a distraction so the students would have some idea about how much harder it was to do a spell where you needed to concentrate when there was interference.

"Don't even get me started, Mr. Black, on the way you dress!" Dolores resumed. Minerva wanted to hear this. She doubted Dolores would make any headway whatsoever, but it would be fun to listen to her try. The point was moot, in any case. Sirius usually dressed formally. "Leather pants are not suitable for teaching!" she exclaimed shrilly. "Neither is that jacket! It is furthermore inappropriate to wear the exact same thing two days in a row! You set a horrible example for the students and not just with your dressing habits! Swearing and discussing current events like you know what is going on better than the _Daily Prophet_ are completely inappropriate! If we cannot trust the newspaper, then who can we trust? This rebelliousness will only be passed on to the next generation, and what will you do when you learn you've sent them off a foolish, idealistic crusade just like the one their parents went on? You'll be sorry then, Mr. Black. And you will remember when I said this to—" Dolores broke off and demanded, "What is it?" Sirius had had his hand in the air, as if to ask a question.

"Are you quite finished yet?" Sirius asked a bit disinterestedly, leaning back in the chair once more. "You've been telling me off for a while, and, as Professor McGonagall knows, that does absolutely jack-shit in the long run, so you'd be best off just glaring at me every time we pass in the hallways. Can't we agree to disagree and despise each other in peace?" Dolores was staring at Sirius in astonishment as he continued, "Oh, and by the way, when I find out if these kids must go off to fight in this war like their parents were forced to, I'll be glad to know I at least gave them a fighting chance of surviving it. I don't give a damn about what you think of me. If they learn how to survive, that's what's important, not this godforsaken politicking." He scoffed disgustedly and stood. "Now, if you excuse me, I have a class to teach," he said coldly and left the room.

That was a much more tame reaction than Minerva had expected. He had not in fact gone to class, but the gesture was what counted. Hell, Black was probably just standing outside the door, listening for Dolores' reaction. Incidentally, Minerva was still not going to be the first to walk out through that door.

There was a tense minute or so of silence in which Dolores was silently fuming and Severus was glaring jealously at the door before Artemesia just stood up and took the seat across from Dolores. Suddenly becoming horrifyingly friendly again, Dolores said, "Professor Vector, we have nothing to discuss. You are a good teacher and make your subject interesting. Do keep up the good work."

Smiling sweetly, Artemesia replied, "Why thank you, Inquisitor Umbridge. It was a pleasure having you in class." After some more pleasantries, Dolores vacated the room with Albus, who was going to argue that the grounds she had given did not justify firing any of the teachers. Sirius then reentered from the other door a few seconds later. "How nice of you to rejoin us," Artemesia commented mildly. "Did you enjoy escaping the wrath of Umbridge?"

"Yes, actually," Sirius replied a little distractedly, as if making sure that Dolores was not going to come back. Minerva wanted to roll her eyes. In some ways, he really had not changed in the slightest. Of course, it was nice to know that the two were not incredibly awkward with each other anymore. Minerva wasn't sure how much more of _that_ she would have been able to withstand. "Have fun being flattered by the devil incarnate in pink?" Sirius asked in turn. "How in the hell did you manage to get her to approve of you? I thought she hated you on principle."

Artemesia smiled lazily. Minerva herself was interested. After all, Dolores was not going to be as kind to Minerva, and Severus had obviously worked to ingratiate himself, as much as he despised doing so. "I was wondering the same thing, Vector," Severus commented as Auriga generally agreed.

Minerva had an idea. "What did you lecture on?" she asked. If she knew how Artemesia Vector's mind worked, and Minerva McGonagall definitely knew how that young woman's mind worked, then there was a relatively simple solution to this seemingly complex problem. That was why it was so irritating sometimes to deal with arithmancers.

"Oh, nothing much. Just infinite series, integration, differentiation, and limits," Artemesia replied nonchalantly. Laughing a bit, she continued, "Well, after about fifteen minutes of talking about calculus and how it related to arithmancy, Lee Jordan realized that my plan had worked, because Umbridge had fallen asleep. So, I dismissed class, and most of them went to the library once a couple of Muggle-borns decided their classmates had depressingly little knowledge of Muggle literature. Speaking of which, we need to keep an eye on Jordan and the Weasley twins. Jordan discovered Shakespeare's comedies."

Sirius was trying not to laugh at Severus' expression, but Minerva said, "Well, it's good that he is finally applying himself. Even if we are to see some Shakespeare-inspired idiocy in the next couple of weeks, Jordan will be occupied with reading for at least some of that time."

Auriga winced. "He checked out _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, didn't he?" she asked hesitantly, desperately hoping she was wrong.

"Alas," Artemesia replied, shrugging. Minerva could tell she was not too upset by the turn of events. "In any case, in the library, I ran into Terry, who happened to be loitering around the Muggle literature again. He volunteered to wake Umbridge. As you can guess, she left as soon as she could when she found out that she was late to the next class she was supposed to sit in on. I suppose now that it was Potions, but her expression was absolutely priceless."

Minerva had heard about this Terry fellow. He seemed to be avoiding her, but Albus had told her that the young man was an ally of the Order and working on a highly classified mission. From what she remembered of him from when Sirius had chased White into the Great Hall, he seemed to have been the recipient of Poppy's high-strength analgesic or was channeling Dorcas Meadowes, potentially both. Regardless, if Poppy had deemed it necessary to give the poor man that specific painkiller, then he must have been in quite a bad way.

"Speaking of White, isn't he leaving soon?" Sirius asked. The question was obviously directed at Artemesia, whose attention had again traveled to the fact Sirius was wearing leather pants. Those two needed to sit down and sort out their problems.

"Did someone mention me?" a rather familiar voice inquired. Minerva turned to see Terry White leaning against the doorframe, grinning. His expression looked out of place when considering his present appearance. After all, he had been sleeping in the Hospital Wing for the past two weeks, and he still looked like he was about to keel over.

"No. Go away, White," Severus snapped. It was certainly clear that Severus would have rather not heard from the younger man at all.

"Okay. I was just stopping by to tell Artemesia that Pomfrey's letting me leave today, anyway," White reported cheerfully. Oh, that was not how one dealt with an irritated Severus. Unless, of course, one was … Minerva observed White. No, the idea was ludicrous.

"I'm sure Pompom's overjoyed that you're finally leaving," Sirius commented, completely ignoring that Severus looked about ready to kill someone.

White shrugged. "In any case, I just wanted to say goodbye," he said, addressing Artemesia seriously. "I'll see you soon." Minerva couldn't help but notice that Artemesia looked a little apprehensive as she returned the sentiments. Well. That certainly pointed to the arithmancy professor knowing about the young man's profession. She had a right to be afraid, Minerva supposed from what she had heard from Albus. Turning to Sirius, White said, "I, uh, well… Sorry for everything, I guess. My, uh, behavior that day wasn't exactly, um…"

Sirius, predictably, only said, "It's fine. Just don't do it again." Of course, the way he replied indicated Sirius had a bit of a soft spot for the younger man. Why, Minerva couldn't guess. She only had the ability to pick up on his meaning as a fringe benefit of having taught the former prisoner of Azkaban for seven years too many.

"I won't," White replied before remembering, "Oh, and I'll see you at the meeting later today, Severus." Minerva started to wonder how White had managed to join _that_ group. Didn't they have actual membership restrictions? "Professor McGonagall. Auriga," he said in way of a farewell and left.

Auriga stared after him in confusion then turned to Severus and asked, "What meeting?"

"Anger management," Artemesia replied quickly. Minerva refrained from commenting, and Sirius was obviously trying his best not to correct her or, worse, laugh.

"Ah. I always thought we'd all be driven mad by the end of this. I won't tell anyone," Auriga informed Severus. Pensively, she continued, "I didn't think Terry was the type, though…" She shrugged and said in a cheerful manner, "Well, doesn't matter, does it?"

Ravenclaws were supposed to be the intelligent ones, but Minerva wasn't even sure if she wanted to know if Auriga were serious or not.

* * *

"I can't believe you really wore that bloody get-up two days in a row!" Artemesia exclaimed, shaking her head, as she walked through the halls. She had always despised patrolling the halls and looking for students out after curfew, so luckily she had never been made a prefect. Of course, Sirius had not been made a prefect for other reasons. "You didn't even change, did you?"

Sirius snorted at the question. "Yeah, right. As much as I would have liked to just to piss off Umbridge, these are my other pair of leather trousers. I forgot about the house elves," he explained, combing his fingers through his hair. A little embarrassedly, he continued, "I thought the laundry was once a week. Did they change the schedule?"

Artemesia grinned at him and answered, "No, they didn't. It's twice a week for us. The students are still stuck with once a week, but they tend to be less concerned with that sort of thing. God forbid that Severus has to wear clothes that aren't black." She giggled at that and reminisced, "Oh, man, there was one time when he had to wear a green jumper and jeans. It was certainly a tragedy. Couldn't show his face for an entire week."

Sirius looked intrigued, which from experience Artemesia knew was a bad sign. "Oh, really?" he asked with a grin. He really did look younger when he was smiling. "I may just have to have a little talk with the house elves, then…"

"Sirius Black, don't you dare!" Artemesia exclaimed. She would be interested in seeing what insanity he could get up to, even if she had to feign confusion when Severus demanded who exactly had told Sirius about that little incident. "Severus would absolutely kill you!"

Sirius shrugged and joked, "Well, at least then he couldn't kill me again when he discovered the dye was permanent." Chuckling a little, he reassured her, "Don't worry. I'm not going to do it. I figure I've antagonized Snape enough for a couple of lifetimes, even if Slytherins need to change up their wardroves." As if the thought had just struck him, he asked, "Do you think Hufflepuff cares that Slytherin stole one of their colors? 'Cause, I swear that there are more Slytherins wearing black than Hufflepuffs."

Artemesia actually considered that and replied, "Well, I suppose that the Hufflepuffs would prefer to have a happier color, like orange or pink, instead of black, but Slytherin's unofficial third color has been black since Merlin only knows when."

"Funny, that. Merlin probably did know," Sirius quipped. Artemesia playfully shoved him, and he defended, "Hey, Merlin was probably still alive when Hogwarts got founded, so he could pinpoint the exact moment the Slytherins started wearing black."

"It was probably around the same time the other houses realized what Gryffindors 'courage' really was," she retorted. "In fact, the Hufflepuffs are probably the only ones who aren't particularly known for any single witch or wizard who went off and did something incredibly stupid. Gryffindor himself was just the beginning. There have been many a Ravenclaw who blew his or herself up making something, and Slytherins compose two-thirds of the major dark witches or wizards of the British Isles in the past millennium."

Sirius rolled his eyes and said ever-sufferingly, "Know-it-all Ravenclaw."

"Arrogant Gryffindor," Artemesia rejoined automatically as they continued on their rounds. It was nice, this senseless talking. The conversation reminded her strongly of their school days, when he would deign to grace the Ravenclaw table with his presence for the express purpose of bickering with her at breakfast. There was a comfortable silence as they continued to walk along.

About halfway up to the Divination classrom (it was surprising where teachers could find students at strange hours of the morning), Sirius asked, "Why do we even bother patrolling? The students do it well enough. I mean, Remus did, at the very least. Arbitrarily assigning detentions like this doesn't discourage bad behavior. Take me for an example. A lecture and a slap on the wrist never changed anything." He smiled sadly and continued, "Remember that one time in sixth year when we all spent a couple hours looking for Auriga after that asshole dumped her in front of the entire school? I can't remember who got detention, really, but… Hell, I don't know." He looked off to the side.

Artemesia remembered what he was talking about. It had turned out that Auriga was lounging about in the Astronomy Tower with some fourth-year, having an in-depth conversation about astronomy, according to Dorcas Meadowes, at least. Of course, since it was Dorcas doing the talking, the difference between what was reported and what was true could be astronomical. In any case, a good number of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor sixth-years had roamed the corridors until about one in the morning looking for Auriga. Sirius and Artemesia had wandered together then, too. There had been a rather close call with McGonagall and a seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect, but they had managed to escape all detection. "It doesn't matter anyway," Sirius said suddenly. "I suppose the prefects can't do everything."

"Not that either of us would know," Artemesia reminded him gently. "Sirius, I do understand what you mean. Sometimes students just need to take a long walk around the castle at three in the morning. I seem to remember a Slytherin a little younger than us made a habit of it." Artemesia wondered if he realized to whom she was referring. Looking around, she noticed a bench near the next window. Turning to Sirius, she asked, "Mind if we stop for a bit? I'm a little tired. We've been patrolling for probably three hours without a break."

"Yeah. Of course," he replied as she rushed over to the bench and sat herself down. Grinning wryly, Sirius caught up and sat next to her. "You know if it's midnight yet?" he asked, hoping that they had half an hour or less left of patrol. When Artemesia thought about it, she realized he was probably more tired than she was. Defense Against the Dark Arts met more than Arithmancy, after all. There had to be a better solution than having the professors wandering the halls at night. Hogwarts did have an Inquisitor. Umbridge could take up the incredibly important job of making sure that students were not out of their common rooms after hours. The prefects could be left to their own devices instead. Hey, and Filch patrolled, too!

"I don't know," Artemesia replied, starting to feel very tired. "You're the one with the watch, Sirius," she reminded him. She seemed to be doing a lot of reminding tonight. Did he have a faulty memory or something? He normally didn't ask silly questions like that.

"Oh, right," Sirius murmured, checking the watch. He stared at the watch for a couple of moments. "It is strange and unnatural to be this tired this early," he stated frustratedly. Artemesia stared at him, mentally prompting him to continue. He obviously got the message, because he continued, "We've only been patrolling for two hours, Sia. It's eleven."

"Really? I could have sworn it was more something like midnight," Artemesia said, confused. Groaning, she leaned over and rested her head on Sirius' shoulder. "It's not fair… Why can't the bloody students do this? They're young. They don't need the sleep." Maybe she should not rest her eyes at the moment. That would be kind of awkward if she fell asleep on Sirius. Well, it would be funny in retrospect, especially if Sirius had to explain to a passing prefect why he was carrying her back to her room. 'Sides, he was warm and made a good pillow. Completely good excuse for falling asleep on him.

"Sia…? Are you asleep?"

"Nurh."

"Obviously not," he murmured to himself. After pausing for a moment, he said, "Maybe we should just call it a night, seeing as you're about to go to sleep and I despise this duty on principle, and maybe I'm about to fall asleep, too. I think I might be rambling."

"No, you're not," Artemesia reassured him as they got back to their feet. She decided that she resembled a zombie or other slow-moving undead creature at the moment. She certainly felt like one.

About fifteen minutes later, Artemesia had successfully navigated them back to her room. Now that she took the time to notice, Sirius was swaying on his feet a bit. They really should not have been that tired. Really. It wasn't as if it had been necessary to wake up at five that morning to attend the meeting with Umbridge at six-thirty, which had really been seven. Oh, no. Of course not.

"Well, g'night, Sia," Sirius said as he leaned against the door. He really did look about as tired as she felt. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

Artemesia nodded and yawned. "That sounds good," she agreed and said, "Good night." As Sirius started to walk away, Artemesia started thinking. Now, it must be known that a sleep-deprived Artemesia Vector who gets to thinking does not necessarily make the best choices. There was a long list of events that testified to this very fact. However, most of those times, what seemed like a good idea at the time only became a good idea when it was far, _far_ in the past. It must also be mentioned that her long-term memory was the only part of her mind that was functioning anywhere near well at that moment, so it was only natural that she called after Sirius. It was also only natural that he stopped and turned around. He was expecting her to have forgotten to say something, but she surprised him. Just a little.

"Your memory is terrible today," she informed him. He stared at her, a little confused. In some corner of her mind, she supposed that he had a right to be. They were both tired; she was making little to no sense; he wasn't really in the mood for processing anything. Just as he was about to ask her what she was talking about, she seized the moment.

Understandably, it took him a second to realize that she was in fact kissing him. Luckily, he always had been quick on the uptake.

* * *

_**Notes:** __The next update will be in approximately two weeks, but then it's back to once a month. Sorry. That said, __thanks to everyone who took the time to read, and an extra big thanks to anyone and everyone who reviewed!_

_**Coming Soon:** Terry's luck runs out, and Bellatrix is undeniably creepy._


	23. Fear and Loathing

_His throat was on fire, and it felt like he couldn't breathe. He had told Kreacher to leave, but the damned elf wouldn't go. Didn't the elf understand that there was no hope for his master? Supposing that he did survive the cave, the potion would leave him so drained that there was no hope of escape from the rest of the Death Eaters. "Kreacher, please, go," he begged. The locket had to be destroyed. If Voldemort found out that it had been stolen and found this scene, there was no hope left. The Dark Lord would find much better hiding places, places no one would think to look, and no one would ever have a chance of finding out about _them_ in the manner all of the others had._

_He felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest, and he fell down onto his hands and knees. He tried to stand, but it was useless, and the pain only worsened. This was not how he wanted to die. Then again, Regulus Arcturus Black had not expected to live to the age of 19. His was a rather pathetic existence when he thought about it, which was probably the reason he didn't. _Why_ hadn't Kreacher left yet? "Please… You have to go," he reminded the house elf._

_Kreacher said something in reply, but Regulus was preoccupied with a sudden bout of nausea. Probably a side effect of the potion. It was taking all of his will not to drink any of the pond water, as disgusting as it was, so there was no way for him to prevent himself from retching onto the cavern floor. Kreacher started to sound more frantic, and Regulus tried to listen, he really did, but the damn potion meddled with his senses. The warnings were incomprehensible to him until he managed to gather enough energy to look up and see that, yes, the inferi were awake. Regulus knew that if he could have paled any further by that point, he would have._

_He couldn't resist as the living dead manhandled him and dragged him towards the lake. Well, he supposed that was it. He could barely feel disturbed by the fact that he was so unperturbed by the whole matter. On the bright side, at least the inferi had just been programmed to drown whomever came to the lake. He wasn't sure he could have dealt as easily with his impending death if it were as a result of dismemberment._

_The water was colder than he had expected. In truth, it was icy, and Regulus just wanted the damn zombies to get it over with. Couldn't one of them snap his neck by accident? The thought was morbid, but he was going to die. He would just rather they hurry it up. If Bellatrix appeared and AK'd him right then and there, he probably would have thanked her. Granted, if she did appear, she would detachedly watch him drown and laugh at him. He would have the last laugh, though: he had contributed, albeit minorly, to Voldemort's downfall. Regulus knew he was dying for a good cause._

_He tried to keep that in mind as one of the inferi seized a hold of his throat and pushed him down beneath the water. Regulus knew he was only a bit off shore, and if he could only summon up some strength, he might have been able to break free from the grip and crawl back to the shore. It wasn't meant to be. He started struggling regardless of the eventual outcome. This may not have been the way he wanted to die, but there was no way in hell he was giving up that easily. When he tried to pry the inferius's grip from his neck, two more inferi took hold of his arms. Regulus started to feel very tired; there were black spots in his vision. That was never a good sign, he knew. Oh, God, he didn't want to die. He still had unfinished business to see to, people from whom to beg forgiveness. He should have told someone about what he was doing. Someone, anyone. Barty would have been most likely to help, but then he would tell Bella, and she'd have… God only knew with Snape, and Sirius would have insisted that Regulus stay out of it. Then his brother would be the one drowning, and Regulus would be the one, standing on the shore, too shocked to act. No, that had never been an option. Regulus would never have been able to forgive himself._

_Everything was going black, and his thoughts started to slow. It was hypoxia, he knew, and that would lead to asphyxia. Regulus, in his strange fit of emotions, smiled. He had tried, hadn't he? Maybe now his brother wouldn't speak ill of him after he was gone. He had finally done the right thing. The world then went completely black, and he knew no more._

_He honestly had not expected to wake, much less wake outside the cave. The face he awoke to was one of the last he had expected. After all, he hadn't said goodbye to Severus at all. It had all just been business as usual. "What in the name of Merlin's socks were you doing?" the potions master demanded. Regulus found it easier to stare at his friend a little unfocusedly than attempt to reply. Severus apparently did not expect one much, either, as he then said, "Are you trying to kill yourself? You know what; don't answer me."_

_Regulus tried to ignore his newly developed headache (probably a result of the lack of air, he mused) as he replied painfully, "S-sev, y-you don't want to kn-know wha-what I was d-doing." It was very cold outside, and his wet clothes were not helping. He felt like his throat had been scraped with a metal file. "I'm a dead man, just leave me," Regulus implored. He did not want his friend to be killed just because of some stupidity _he_ had committed._

_Disbelieving, Severus stared at him with one eyebrow arched. "I'd sooner cross-dress and go on a date with that idiot Crouch than do that," he stated in a monotone as he helped Regulus to sit up from the ground. Regulus wished Severus luck in trying to get him to stand or walk, which would take nothing short of a miracle at this point. "Besides, I do not need to give your brother an actual reason for hating me. It would be ceding him the moral high ground," Severus explained, convincing either himself or Regulus._

_"Y'sure 'bout that?" Regulus asked, trying to stay conscious and stop shivering, but his attempt was mostly useless. They were on the coast of England in the middle of bloody winter. "I can't imagine Sirius would really care," Regulus continued, wishing it wasn't just Snape that was there. Deciding that maybe he would accept a little help, Regulus asked, "Could you just help me get back to London? Doesn't matter where…"_

_Severus looked concerned for his friend, which Regulus supposed was standard, even if Severus did like to pretend that he was an insufferable, heartless bastard. He might not have been as cuddly as a kitten, but Severus had a heart, somewhere. Regulus used to think that he kept it in a jar in his trunk. The point was that Severus did have feelings. It was just that they rarely surfaced, especially in times such as these. Gritting his teeth, Severus proffered a small vial then commanded, "Drink." Regulus felt pathetic when he realized he did not even have enough energy to raise his arm, but Severus apparently noticed that Regulus was not trying to be stubborn and raised the vial to Regulus' lips so he could drink the contents. "Why did you do this, Regulus? What's so important?" Severus asked uncomprehendingly._

_Regulus smiled as he felt himself get a little bit better. That must have been an antidote of some sort. Probably derived from bezoars if he stopped to consider it. "It was just something I had to do, Sev. Please don't ask," he replied as he tried to stand._

_Severus shook his head, both at the reply and at how Regulus collapsed rather quickly after his attempt to get up from the ground, but he helped his younger friend stand nonetheless. Slinging one of Regulus's arms around his shoulder for support, Severus said, "I'll take you back to your flat, all right? If you need it, I'll construct an alibi, and say you were indisposed for various reasons. The Lestrange brothers would probably buy it, even if Crouch wouldn't."_

_"That's 'cause Barty knows how pathetic my social life is, Sev. I've'n't gone on a date since I graduated," Regulus reminded the slightly older man. He tried to laugh a bit, but the action hurt something awful. He couldn't help but start coughing harshly. With a wan smile, Regulus reassured his friend, "Don't worry, really. It's just a cough. All this will be a nasty memory someday." He did not believe his own words. Bellatrix was probably planning on how to conduct his torture and execution at that very moment. It was a little ironic that Bella was to be his judge, jury, and executioner. He only hoped that he would not tell her about his work with the horcruxes under torture. Maybe she would kill him quickly?_

_Severus seemed to consider Regulus' status. "Maybe I should take you to St. Mungo's…" he murmured before deciding, "No, if the others will be as intent on finding you as I think they might be, then seeking asylum in neutral territory won't help." Severus cursed rather creatively as he thought about where go._

_"Wait, Sev," Regulus interrupted. He was starting to feel marginally better on his feet, but he knew there was no way that he would be able to escape without dragging others down with him. "How did you find me?" Regulus asked._

_Severus stared at him incredulously. "Black, firstly, you're an idiot," he began to explain. It was how Severus tended to preface explanations to him. "Secondly, in your flat, you left some incriminating notes in plain sight. Thirdly, I asked your house elf."_

_"Right. Kreacher," Regulus repeated, now feeling slightly dizzy. Standing was not agreeing with him, and he started to notice the antidote was either only temporary or that damn potion was too damn strong. Reg asked, "Sev, question: did you make anything _really_ strange for the Dark Lord lately? I'm starting to see spots…"_

_"Nothing immediately comes to mind, Regulus," Severus replied calmly rethinking the idea of going to St. Mungo's. That was not a good sign, at least in Regulus' mind. Granted, the best course of action might have been going straight to Order of the Phoenix or another one of the groups fighting the Death Eaters, but that would just be delaying the inevitable. There were spies everywhere. The Order was compromised by at least one spy, and the Ministry was leaking information like a sieve._

_He might as well just get it over and done with, really. "Sev, just take me back to my flat," Regulus murmured. He looked up at his friend, hoping Severus would get the message. "I'll be fine," Regulus lied. "I'll rest a bit, then I'll go talk to… I don't know, someone in the Order of the Phoenix aside from you and claim asylum. Maybe Dorcas…"_

_Severus set his jaw but said nothing. Anything he would have said would be admitting or suggesting something disagreeable. "Fine," Severus replied shortly. If Regulus was set on the idea, then there was no changing his mind. Severus had attempted to do so over the years but to no avail._

_They apparated into an alley near Regulus' flat. Regulus almost fell over again, but Severus kept him standing. "I can get to my flat from here, Sev," he said determinedly. There was no doubt in Regulus's mind that there was at least one Death Eater on surveillance duty. "Go. Leave."_

_Severus stared at his friend. He was aware of what was waiting for the younger man, and he sure as hell did not like it. "Regulus, was refusing to go through with that mission really worth this?" Severus demanded._

_Despite that his disobedience had really just allowed for Regulus to actually do right for once, there was no way that he would have ever gone through with his orders. "I could and would never have done that," he replied icily. "I may barely be able to get away with standing in the shadows, but I draw the line far before _that_. There is no way in hell I'd be able to kill S—"_

_There was a loud crack, and both of them fell silent. Someone had apparated nearby. Regulus gave a half-smile and started to walk, such as he could, out into the street. Severus knew better than to follo. They were well aware of what could happen were Severus found to be aiding Regulus, not that Regulus particularly gave a damn about any of it right now._

_At the end of the alley, Regulus tripped over a trash bin. He may have fallen over onto it. The exact terminology was open to debate, but Severus apparated away at the noise. Now that he didn't have to worry about his friend, Regulus tried to stand yet again. He did not feel like dying on his hands and knees._

_A hand was proffered. Without really thinking, Regulus took it and stood. Then he saw to whom the hand belonged. No. "Why so blue, cousin?" Regulus froze. This could not be happening. Why couldn't he be wrong? If Barty had been there, then maybe Regulus might have been able to get away, but this… this was a death sentence._

_"I don't know what you're talking about, Bella," he murmured, leaning against the wall of the alley. "What's going on?"_

_"Your time is up, dear Regulus," Bellatrix reminded him sweetly. Only she could make that adjective so sinister. "The Dark Lord has been waiting for you to fulfill your assignment for over two weeks. I know you have a tendency to take your time to complete things, but this is pushing it, even for you, love." Grinning predatorily, she continued, "Then again, it was so obvious that you would fail. Couldn't kill your _precious_ older brother?"_

_"Shut up, Bella," Regulus growled. "You've no right to judge me simply for that. After all, Andy's still alive and well." It was unwise to drag Andromeda into it, but the distraction could be worth it. Hell, if he could get her angry enough, she might just AK him and be done with it. "Besides, there was never any chance of me winning against him in a duel. Everyone knows it. This was just an excuse to get rid of me, Bella," he declared. "You know it well. I'm not useful to the Dark Lord anymore, so he's tossing me out."_

_Bellatrix laughed at him cruelly and applauded. "Oh, good show, cousin," she sneered. "You'd be much more convincing if you did not look so pallid and were shivering like a drowned rat. Try to commit suicide by jumping in the Thames? Obviously, you failed. You never could do anything right, could you? Who could be foolish enough to save you?"_

_Regulus started to back up. Sure, the action was futile, but running sounded like such a good idea. "I take it there's no point in appealing to your sense of family loyalty?" he asked, trying not to sound hopeful in the slightest. The look on Bellatrix's face as he finished was more than enough of an answer. One last attempt, then: "Bella, please…"_

_Her face became expressionless, and she whispered, "_Crucio_."

* * *

_

Terry was finally out of the Hospital Wing. He had apparently slept like the dead for two weeks and missed any real chance to irritate Umbridge for Artemesia. On a related topic, Terry had to go check in with the Death Eaters. Snape had been covering for him, saying that he was unable to attend the meetings due to the beating Bellatrix had given him when she found out he lied about his name. He still felt weak, but there was no way he could put off going to a meeting anymore. He knew he was in danger even if he explained his absence through his recent medical problems. His right wrist ached at the thought of being left at Bellatrix's mercy. Terry really did wish less of the injuries he had accumulated over the years were that woman's fault.

What it all boiled down to was that he was standing in front of the door to Headquarters, building up to courage to go in and meet his doom. He was in no way a brave man, and he knew when to run, but this was necessary. As much as Terry wished he could back down as he stood there at the gates of hell, he could not give in to his wish. Voldemort had to be defeated, and if he had to act the loyal Death Eater, then Terry was going to play his part and play it well. No more would he act the fool; it was too dangerous. He had to stay serious, even if it meant that the upper echelons of the group might recognize him.

One of the new recruits passed by him and broke him out of his thoughts. Terry followed the young man through the door. The kid could not have been much older than eighteen. The Death Eaters had no right—no right at all—to ruin children's lives like that. Apparently, the kid had noticed Terry was watching him and glared. "What the fuck's with you, old man?" he demanded brazenly. Terry wondered if the kid had been in Gryffindor. No self-respecting Slytherin would have ever spoken to his elders like that, and Hufflepuffs weren't known to join the Death Eaters.

There was no reason to take that sort of treatment from some upstart kid, though, so Terry glared back in disgust and haughtily replied, "What a way with words you have, child. Speak like that to someone like Bellatrix Lestrange, and she'll have your head. What has happened to our famed politesse? You are no better than an unwashed Muggle street urchin." Apparently he still had the ability to act and sound like people he had grown up emulating. Still left him feeling uncomfortable, though.

The boy straightened immediately and groveled, "I apologize, sir. I thought you were that good-for-nothing spy Madame Lestrange had ferreted out." The boy would get a surprise there, then. Oh, well. What the kid didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "I am but a lowly recruit and have not yet taken the Mark," he continued. Terry realized that the kid was scared shitless. He started to think of whose son this boy could possibly be, but he was drawing a blank. "Have you seen White? He was supposed to be around here somewhere, but I have clearly failed horribly at this task," the boy asked, looking altogether too hopeful. Being in the Death Eaters would tear the poor kid apart.

"Of course I've seen him," Terry replied coldly, his expression still dark, trying not to notice how the kid flinched when he barked that out. Scoffing, Terry continued, "Why don't you run along home and let the adults wage war? There is no use for children here. The Death Eaters furthermore have absolutely no use for fools who cannot even locate an even greater fool. Now leave and never return. You are simply unsuited for this line of work."

The young man nodded frantically and skittered, leaving Terry hoping the kid really would stay away. He'd seen too many friends die because they had been foolish enough to join the ranks of the Dark Lord when they were even younger than that boy. Hell, he'd joined right after he left school. Biggest mistake of his life, that had been.

Sighing, Terry continued through the tunnels to get to the main chamber. He was signing his own death warrant again. Terry ignored the shiver that ran down his spine when he opened the door to the audience room. Most of the high-level Death Eaters were already there, and Snape was sitting some ways away, looking thoroughly bored. Terry really did wonder how he did it, sometimes.

Bellatrix, however, was missing. That was strange. Terry suddenly had a feeling; he did not know how he knew, but she was standing behind him. He kept his face impassive when she put her hand on his shoulder and said, "How nice of you to finally join us, Mr. White." Terry put on a confidant look and turned to see her grinning like the cat that had caught the canary. It became harder to maintain his façade when faced with her all too menacing expression. Bellatrix addressed the rest of the Death Eaters, "Isn't it wonderful that the guest of honor has arrived?"

Despite his overwhelming desire to run like all hell was following him, Terry replied nonchalantly, "Well, I was a little delayed in my escape from the Mudblood-infested prison that is Hogwarts, but I was unaware that you had missed me so much. Quite frankly, I am honored." He was a little horrified to note that he had completely slipped back into his old accent. Regardless, he continued, "There was no way that Dumbledore would let me out unless I seemed healthy again. He would doubtlessly have deemed it too suspicious if I left half-dead."

Bellatrix's grip on his shoulder tightened, and she growled, "Do not pretend as if you have done no ill, boy!" before throwing him to the ground. "You not only lied about your name, but you ran for aid from the leader of the damned Order of the Phoenix!"

The other Death Eaters had stood from their chairs and gathered around in a circle around Terry. Voldemort was mercifully absent, but Terry knew the man would only appear at the most opportune moment. There was very little chance that the Dark Lord would land the killing blow, but Terry's luck seemed to have finally run out. "You don't think I don't have a plan, do you?" he murmured loud enough for the others to hear as he tried to sit up to a crouch. "I'm trying to gain the trust of those filthy blood-traitors, my lady. Yes, I lied about my name, but the situation presented itself as a chance to gain a foothold in the Order of the Phoenix. What's the harm of a second spy among them?"

Rudolphus was the one that hurt him this time, lashing out and kicking Terry in the back, causing the younger man to fall back to the floor whimpering. He was obviously not as healed as he thought he was. "We do not need to take risks like that, boy," Rudolphus growled impatiently. "And how do we know that you will not run off and beg for asylum from the Order instead? You let the Tonks brat get away, aided her in fact. What reason do you have for us to trust you, the scum of the earth? You may speak like one of us, but your actions do not back up your words in the slightest." Unhappy with how little Terry seemed to be suffering, Rudolphus kicked him again for good measure. Terry didn't make a sound that time. It would be giving in.

"How bloody else would I gain their trust? Walk in to their Headquarters and plead with them? Beg for forgiveness and absolution? They'd throw me out on the street!" Terry defended weakly, knowing that it was Rabastan's turn to beat him. Rabastan was always a bit of a bastard, and he was a cruel one at that. Then again, this was only the warm-up.

Rabastan, as usual, just cast the Cruciatus on him with little to no reservation. Terry had always thought it oh-so-very odd about how much the curse hurt despite the lack of emotions poured into it. Rabastan smirked as Terry writhed on the floor screaming inarticulately. Later, they would let up enough or he would become so used to the pain so he would scream what they wanted to know. "Kh. No resistance whatsoever. Pathetic," Rabastan commented disgustedly. Turning to his brother and Bellatrix, he said, "You're probably right; he's at least a half-blood if he can't stand a simple _crucio_." He recast the spell when he said the incantation, completely ignoring how Terry was clawing at his own arms to try to take his mind off of the magically induced pain. It wasn't working.

Malfoy was looking down on him in revulsion. "He is right about one thing, Bellatrix. The Order would not even take this trash. He would be turned away on the spot," he mentioned and cast a cutting curse on Terry's left arm. For symbolism's sake. Rabastan's two Cruciatus curses had not ended yet, so Terry did not even feel the newly inflicted wound, even if he did feel the blood. "Of course, presented with such a pathetic wreck, the Order might take him out of pity. After all, they trusted Pettigrew for years and were more likely to believe he was loyal and Black the traitor," Lucius mused. He smiled wickedly as he continued, "Maybe there is some merit to his idea, were we to spare his life and make sure of his loyalties."

"He would have to take the Mark," Rookwood reminded them, "and the Department of Mysteries is well aware of what it means. He'd be useless for any and all spying to be done within the Department. Security might have become more lax since the old Director retired, but they aren't ones to let an information leak like this go unnoticed or unplugged." He lifted Terry, who had been enjoying a brief respite now that the Cruciatus curses were finished, up by the collar of his shirt and decked him, sending Terry sprawling back onto the floor where the small puddle of blood from his arm was almost glowing a bright red before lazily aiming a cutting curse at the younger man's back. The spell cut through Terry's clothes to make a hideous gash that started gushing blood. "Oops. Must have cut a bit too deep," Rookwood observed.

Dispassionately, Snape inquired, "Should we cauterize the wound or do you want me to retrieve the Blood Coagulating Potion from storage?" He looked at Bellatrix and Lucius to gage their reactions, and while Bellatrix looked more interested in watching Terry suffer, Lucius nodded, referring to the second option. Snape then walked off, and Terry was vaguely glad for it. Severus could pack quite a punch when he wanted to.

"I won't to tell you anything," Terry declared, trying to ignore the pain in his arm and back. There was not much to tell, save the information on the horcruxes, and there was no way in hell he would speak on the subject. "You'll have to kill me first."

"Brave words," Rabastan sneered before casting a fire charm on the wound on Terry's back, regardless of what they had told Snape. He was taking too long in any case. The fire was enough to seal the wound and nothing more. After all, they needed him conscious to interrogate him, and if they had to awaken him so early, then it was probably necessary to use healing spells or potions, which was a waste of resources.

"The Order probably would take him," Pettigrew commented a little unsurely to the others, and despite the pain he was in, Terry glared at the rat. If there was one Death Eater he had less respect for than any of the others, it was Pettigrew. At least Bellatrix was honest in her unadulterated hatred for all things Muggle and Lucius was just conditioned to act the way he did, but Pettigrew betrayed everything he believed in and everyone who believed in him. Terry, as a result, did not see the next thing coming. Pettigrew realized, "He already has the Dark Mark." Terry made to cover his arm, but Bellatrix stormed over and grabbed his wrist before pushing his shirtsleeve down to his elbow. What she saw obviously infuriated her, as she then broke his arm.

"All you seem to do is lie!" she hissed at him. Terry tried to scramble away from her, cradling his arm, but stopped when he backed into something. Something that Bellatrix Lestrange smiled for. Someone who most of the Death Eaters looked vaguely frightened of. A man who then kicked Terry away from him and coolly cast the Cruciatus.

"I thought we had already gone over this, Mr. White," the wizard formerly known as Tom Riddle chastised. "I see Bella and the others have already started to have their fun. Has he said anything of interest?"

"He mentioned something about joining the Order, my Lord," Bellatrix replied deferentially, looking at Terry as if he were some sort of rot to eliminate. "It would be as a tactic to gain more information, I suppose, but we were considering how easily those damned idiots would accept him," she explained. "We are in agreement that he's pathetic enough, but we already have a spy among them."

"I hope you burn in hell, Riddle," Terry spat as the Cruciatus wore off. He had managed to damage his arm further when he had thrashed about on the floor from the last Cruciatus, but he was ignoring the pain at the moment. If they were going to kill him, after all, he had better make sure they killed him quickly out of anger.

Cooly, Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Mr. White, did you learn any manners when you were a child?" he asked as if speaking to a particularly disagreeable teenager. "I thought we had come to the agreement that you only spoke when spoken to. Apparently your rebelliousness still needs to be quelled," the Dark Lord decided in a tired manner. He then noticed the Mark. Terry almost wanted to make an excuse, but there was nothing he could say. He braced himself for the inevitable. Horrifyingly enough, Voldemort laughed and said, "I had thought I had seen you before. You were one of those who stayed for a couple weeks before running off to the Ministry, weren't you? It doesn't matter now. You will follow me until death, like you swore when you took the Mark."

Terry clenched his teeth. Voldemort had to remain in the dark about his identity. If the Dark Lord didn't know, then Bellatrix didn't know, and if neither of them knew, then Terry would not have to withstand the torture again. Terry shuddered just thinking about what had happened, which was not an intelligent move in this situation. Why had he said what he had? There was still a slim chance he could make it out of this alive. His only option left was to grovel and hope for the best. Shakily, Terry said, "My Lord, I apologize. I should have been upfront with you, and I—I don't know why I said what I did. I deserve to be punished." Those were the last words he wanted to say in front of Voldemort, but what else could he do? "At first, I was still listening to what the Ministry wanted me to think, but once I realized this was where I belonged, I couldn't just admit what I had done…" he lied through his teeth. "I am sincerely sorry, my Lord. I will do anything you ask of me." Terry kneeled at Voldemort's feet, and the action made him feel like scum, worse than the traitor Pettigrew was and most had thought Sirius to be.

Voldemort smirked and once again cast the Cruciatus on Terry. Paying no mind to the agonized screaming, Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and informed her, "You may have your fun with him, but make sure not to break him too much. We do need him alive and functioning, after all." Turning to Malfoy, Voldemort said, "The idea you speak of, where this cretin infiltrates the Order of the Phoenix, might be useful and bears discussion. We should speak of the plan further." Finally, Voldemort turned back to Terry, who was lying on the floor, panting. The Dark Lord said simply, "Apology accepted, Mr. White. Bellatrix will administer your punishment." He then swept out of the room, and the majority of Death Eaters followed.

Bellatrix, predictably, stayed behind to tend to Terry. She dragged him to his feet roughly without resistance. Terry knew where they were going. It was where she always took him, the room where it was cold and dark and only pain awaited him. When they reached their destination, she shoved him in, and he fell to the floor, landing wrong on his arm. Terry almost cried out, but there was no way he was going to let her know he was in pain.

"I take it you thought that was rather smart of you?" Bellatrix demanded as she picked him back up and shoved him against the wall. He grimaced at the feeling of her hand closing around his neck. "Why is it that you insist on behaving in the exact wrong manner?" she furthermore asked as she shut his left wrist in a shackle attached to the wall.

"It's the only way I know how," Terry gasped out, trying to ignore their close proximity.

"You've always been rather afraid of me, haven't you?" Bellatrix mentioned as she loosened her grip on his throat. She laughed, and Terry tried to melt into the wall. He had to get away from her, but there was little to no chance of that at the moment. Bellatrix snatched his free hand and locked it in the nearby shackle. She backed up for a moment and stared at him, before she shook her head and said, "I should have turned you around. Now I can't properly whip you. Oh, well. I suppose I'll just have to make due. Now where did I put my whip?"

Terry watched her look about the bloodstained room for her weapon. His robe wasn't really going to afford him much protection, and the shirt he was wearing underneath was about as useful as tissue paper in a hurricane. The jeans, well, they would certainly last longer, but it was still only a matter of time. He looked back to see Bellatrix contemplating her knives and hoped she would find the bloody whip instead.

Finally, she seemed to come up with an idea she liked. Slinking back over, Bellatrix sidled up to him and ran her fingers down his jawline, laughing when he flinched and tried to turn away. With the knife she had picked up, she tore his shirt open and slammed the blade through his left hand all the way up to the hilt. Brushing up against him, she whispered, "I remembered where I left my whip." He stared at her in growing horror, and the next time she moved, he made himself stop feeling, or, at least, he tried.

* * *

_**Notes:** __Once a month updates until I can sort out my schedule or spring semester ends. (Only 15 to 20 chapters of writing left!) Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, and a thousand thanks to everyone who reviewed and anyone who will take the time to do so._

_**Coming Soon:** Ron starts to flip out, Terry and Vesta have a long discussion, and Harry admits to hearing voices._


	24. Might As Well Face It

There were a good many reasons why Ron Weasley absolutely, positively despised Monday night patrol duty. The obvious reasons were, well, obvious. Roaming around the castle until one in the morning was a pain, even on normal days. But Monday? What had he done to deserve patrol on Monday? Hermione was lucky. She got the early patrol on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. But, no. Ron had to have late night patrol on Mondays and Fridays. Where was the justice? He was a good student (kind of). He did his homework (one way or another). He respected the teachers (except for Snape).

He had to learn meditation by class Friday. There was no other way he was going to survive if he didn't. Maybe there was some spell or technique that would allow him to keep his thoughts to himself? Ron considered this for a moment. No, it was impossible. The situation was hopeless! He might as well start writing his will.

Hermione was staring at him like he had lost his mind. Harry wasn't helping. He was Ron's best friend, but sometimes Ron really wondered what the hell Harry was thinking. Who stopped eating a sandwich and stared at their best friend with their mouth hanging open because he (the best friend) had declared that he was doomed because of one of the enjoyable classes had a practical? Harry, obviously. Of course, maybe a couple weeks worth of paranoia wasn't going to trump a lifelong problem? Hermione, thankfully, ended the awkward silence by saying, "Harry, please shut your mouth. I don't think the Slytherins can quite see into your stomach. And, Ron, what exactly is so terrible about practicing against boggarts? It's not like you have any new fear to trump your arachnophobia. Honestly! What possibly could have happened?"

Ron chuckled nervously. What indeed. He was doomed. Absolutely, positively _doomed_.

* * *

Terry White was not a happy man at the moment. he torture session with Bellatrix had left him much worse off than the last he had suffered through. Thankfully, this time he had enough sense to drag himself off to St. Mungo's instead of showing up in front of Sirius' office door and collapsing. Vesta, once she had discovered that her fool of a husband had yet again landed himself in hot water, had given him a very long lecture that ended with her trying to convince him to let someone else deal with the horcruxes. After all, the Order of the Phoenix would devote a good portion of their manpower to destroying what made Voldemort immortal. It would have been so nice to pass the duty to someone else, but he couldn't. He had to finish this.

He had only been in the hospital for a week, but he already was starting to go stir-crazy. Lying in bed, Terry stared up at the ceiling and tried to identify when he had started to despise hospitals. He didn't mind the doctors, and he very much liked regaining his health, but he couldn't stand the buildings. He logically knew that it was more intelligent to remain in the hospital until they were sure he was healthy enough to leave, but he could barely sit still. There was no legitimate reason he would want to escape, but maybe he could talk Vesta into letting him leave.

Sitting up, Terry winced at the sharp pain that cut across his back. The wound wasn't completely healed yet, but he was well enough. The injury had just been the result of a cutting curse and a fire spell, so it hadn't been too difficult for the healers to close the wound and treat the burns. However, the muscles that had been severed were still healing, and he would be in pain for some time.

Terry was about to ask for a nurse to find Vesta, who had insisted on overseeing his recovery, when she entered the room. He was going to have a hard time convincing Vesta to let him leave. She was against him fighting like this, and even worse, he had managed to land himself in a hospital for the second time in a month. Oh, God, he had to warn her about the Death Eaters… How could he have forgotten?

"Terry, please lie down," Vesta said when she arrived at his bedside. He considered not doing so but complied. Vesta looked incredibly worried, and she had a right to be. He had almost died again. Bellatrix and the others had not held back in the slightest, but they had made the decision not to kill him after a couple of days. Voldemort had decided Terry was to become a spy in the Order of the Phoenix, as the last time having two spies had worked out so well, and if Terry refused, or if he did not do exactly what they wanted him to, they would… they would…

Vesta sighed and sat at his bedside. "What is it this time, Terry?" she asked. "I know you're about due for an attempted escape, but you look horrible."

Terry tried to smile reassuringly. She didn't believe him, but he never really could fool her. He might as well just be upfront. "We… we need to talk," he murmured, looking off to the side and away from her. He could put this off any longer than he had already. He had to tell her, warn her, because he couldn't protect her.

Vesta frowned. She did not like the sound of that. She hated it when he started a conversation like that, because of how he generally continued. Vesta looked over the bandages covering Terry's arms and chest. He had been grievously injured, but she had seen much, much worse. Terry was well aware of that. Vesta was afraid of what could happen to him, but she had a right to be worried. She had a right to never want to see anyone that broken again. After all, Regulus Black had died in her arms.

"They know, don't they?" she said quietly.

"They know that I'm married to you, and that's bad enough," Terry replied.

Vesta grimaced and asked, "What about the children?"

"They're safe at Hogwarts. If Voldemort can't touch Potter, then the Death Eaters can't go after Leo and Macha," Terry answered in an attempt to reassure both of them. He wished he believed his own words, but he was well aware he was trying not to consider that the Death Eaters would blackmail him by hurting the children. They were both silent for a moment before Terry pleaded, "Vesta, love, please go back home. You'll be safe there; the Death Eaters wouldn't dare go after you in D.C. or even New York, with your parents. You know that. It's too dangerous for you to stay here. Vesta, if they hurt you, I don't know what I'd…"

Vesta watched him impassively. "Antares Leander White, I am not leaving you here alone," she declared, almost daring him to argue with her. He would argue, but he had to explain to her this was the only way. "Furthermore, I'm not stupid, Terry. I knew this was going to happen. I had hoped it wouldn't, but you can't always get what you want, now can you?"

"Vesta, they're going to try to kill you!" Terry protested, sitting up again. This was not the time for her to take risks! "If you're worried about Leo and Macha, we can have them transfer to a school close to home. Please, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." She had to go and save herself. He could never forgive himself if she were injured because of him. He murmured, "It doesn't matter, anyway. My life has been forfeit for years. I'm living on borrowed time."

Vesta stared at him in disbelief. She was angry with him; she was always angry with him when he talked like this. His self-esteem issues never much flared up anymore, but he had resumed his old habits because of the war, and with the revival of those habits came old feelings and memories Vesta believed were better forgotten. Terry wasn't sure if he disagreed, either. After all, Terry White had no reason to trust Sirius Black or Severus Snape at all. He shouldn't have told Severus about the horcruxes; he really shouldn't have. A close second in stupidity was mentioning his brother to Black. Oh, and there was the time he had spoken to Narcissa Malfoy like she was an old friend. That was likewise brilliant of him. It was a bloody miracle no one had realized what he…

"Why do you insist on doing this, Terry?" Vesta demanded after a moment. As she spoke, she was staring at her hands in her lap. "You cannot just write yourself off! Have you even considered all the consequences?" she continued angrily, tearing up. As Terry was about to interject, Vesta cut him off, furthermore asking, "How do you think Leo and Macha would react if they knew how badly injured you've been or that you were missing for a week? Do you think it's easy telling them that you're just been busy and can't write when we both know that—And what if you died? It isn't fair to them, and you know it! They won't understand why you're doing this! For God's sake, they don't even know your real name, Terry! If they don't hear it from you, then they'll start doubting everything you've ever said or done. Don't even get me started on how Gemma would react, but your nephew? What about him? He idolizes you!"

Falling into a furious silence, Vesta collected her thoughts. Terry hoped she was skirting around specific other reasons she was upset. At least, he hoped he was right about one of the specific other reasons. He didn't deserve to have the life he did, and it was nothing short of a miracle that a woman like her felt anything for him. A little calmer, Vesta continued pleadingly, "Terry, you can't just throw your life away like this! I know I can't get you to quit, but please just get someone to help you with this damned mission. You can't do this alone. You need some help. Please, just ask someone for help. I don't want to lose you… I couldn't stand loosing you to this godforsaken war. Please, Terry, don't give up so easily…"

"I'm not going to surrender to them, Vesta. You don't have to worry about that," Terry replied detachedly as he stilled his hands. God, what was wrong with him? He should not have been worrying her. He should have just left all this insanity to those who were still fighting the war. He should have stayed at home, but he had to fight. Maybe it was just for revenge. Maybe when he looked back one day at the end of it all, he would realize that none of this had been worth it. However, he would never have been able to live with himself if he had not returned to complete the mission. He just had to. He had never had an option. This was the path that he had chosen, and he was proud to have chosen it. He did not regret it, save for one unavoidable consequence. "I'm sorry I've put you through this. I really am," he murmured quietly, sincerely, as he ran his hand through his hair. "You're right," he admitted, "I'll ask for help this time; I swear. Please forgive me, Vesta." He had no clue what else he could say. Nothing was making much sense. He couldn't think straight. Terry continued, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what I've been doing; I can't figure out how it all went so wrong… I spared that Auror, but that was easily enough explained away… Bellatrix shouldn't have gotten so angry when she found out I was lying…" he continued, ending in a bit of a daze.

Vesta suddenly looked up. "You mean Lestrange did this to you?" she demanded. Terry realized he should not have mentioned Bellatrix Lestrange. Vesta loathed Bellatrix because of what had happened in the first war. She looked to be processing the information and calmly asked, "Tell me, how much of that did she do?" Before he could reply, Vesta added stonily, "Terry, don't lie."

Terry winced. "Aside from a few Cruciatus curses and a cutting curse or two?" he asked in way of reply.

Vesta stood up, her fists clenched. "You mean to tell me that she did _all_ of this to you?" she demanded again. Shaking her head, she started pacing. "I don't understand you sometimes, Terry. I really don't," she muttered. Pausing after a moment, Vesta calmed down and sat in her chair. Terry had waited known Vesta's reaction was inevitable. "I thought you were trying to avoid her," Vesta said in a small voice, looking hurt.

Oh, God, she was using that voice again. Did he really look that terrible? Terry didn't think he felt too badly, but if she… He took a breath and turned to his wife. "I was trying to avoid her, love, but I'm none too good at it," he replied with a wan smile. He chuckled mirthlessly and continued, "If I had it my way, I'd have never seen her again. You know that."

Vesta nodded, looking away from him. She wiped one of her eyes with the back of her hand and replied, "I know, Terry, but it still hurts, seeing you like this and knowing that Lestrange…" She leaned forward and put her head in her hands. "Please, please be more careful," she pleaded. "If nothing else, just please be careful. I don't want to see your blood covering my hands ever again, and I couldn't take it if you died! Don't worry about me, please, Terry. You and I both know that you'll just start making more mistakes, and I—I don't know what I'll do without you if you…" She broke off abruptly, her shoulders shaking.

Terry realized she was crying and felt absolutely terrible. More and more of their conversations were starting to end like this, with her crying and him feeling like the complete scum of the earth. Bracing himself, Terry sat up straight and gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The wound on his back hurt like all hell, but he ignored it. He could deal with that pain. "Vesta," he started. "Vesta, I'll be all right. Really," he said sincerely, trying to reassure her.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and red from crying. Even though she still felt distraught, Vesta sighed frustratedly and ordered, "Terry, get back into bed. You'll injure yourself even more." She stood and made to help him lie down.

However, Terry had no intention of quietly complying. "Vesta, since when have I ever listened to reason or commonsense?" he asked her with a weak smile. Looking into her eyes, he continued earnestly, "Please don't worry about me, Vesta. What will happen will happen, but I'll take better care of myself. I'll be more careful." She didn't seem to believe him, but his chest felt like it had a weight on it, so he didn't press the matter. If he thought about it, Vesta probably could see that he was in pain. He wasn't backing down, though.

"Terry, please lie down," she implored him, her hand on his shoulder. "You're going to tear your stitches," Vesta warned, sounding more frustrated than upset. At his confused look, she explained, "Yes, you were injured badly enough that we used stitches. Don't look so shocked." He was going to protest to that, but he started coughing when he breathed in. Sighing, Vesta continued, "I honestly don't know why I put up with you sometimes, but I won't push this anymore." She smiled and apologized, "I'm sorry I keep bringing this up, Terry, but I have a right, you know? I won't bring it up again as long as you're careful."

Terry smiled at her genuinely and replied, "Of course, love." To be completely honest, he hated conflict. He always had. Well, maybe he would spend another couple days in St. Mungo's. On that topic, he asked, "Out of curiosity, when can I leave this place?"

"Another week, Terry," she informed him and added, "And lie down, if you know what's good for you." Despite that Vesta looked less upset, she was still unhappy with his decision, but he expected nothing else.

"I never have really known what's good for me, have I?" Terry mused. "I actually feel a bit better. I think I might walk around a bit. What do you think?" he asked, inching out of the bed. He was glad he was wearing pyjama bottoms instead of an awful hospital gown.

Vesta raised an eyebrow as he stood. "Terry, get back into bed. You are not leaving this room," she declared. He was swaying a bit on his feet, so Vesta reached over and stabilized him. "I told you to lie down," she reminded him, a little irritated. He grinned in reply. With an exasperated sigh, Vesta informed him, "You're insane."

"I love you, too," he murmured before pressing his lips to hers. Vesta leaned in and ran her fingers through his hair while her other arm wrapped around his back to pull him closer. He leaned back and pulled her onto the bed with him.

Vesta broke off the kiss and said, "You know, from a professional point of view, I really should tell you to stop this." He stared at her skeptically. "That's what I thought, too," she concluded, glad she had locked the door behind her as she tossed her coat onto the chair. When Terry drew her back down, she made sure that he didn't hurt himself. He resumed kissing her, and she stopped worrying quite so much. In the meantime, his hands wandered up her shirt, and he started nuzzling her neck, which led to more caressing. When his hands moved elsewhere, she pressed up against him and moaned softly, "Oh, Regulus…"

Terry tensed for a moment at the name, but he kissed her as if he had heard nothing and she had not said a thing. What was past was past. It wasn't worth worrying about. Besides, he currently had more pressing matters to attend to.

* * *

It was Friday morning, and Harry Potter had not slept well the night before. He had vague recollections of corridors and a sinking feeling that he was not in his right mind. It was an unpleasant experience, dreaming about the corridors with the locked room at the end, especially when they tended to be preceded by strange happenings like a kangaroo having tea with a dog, a cat, and an albino mongoose. There had been another dream several days earlier with a perplexed lion staring at the fake Mad-Eye, who had walked out of a phone booth in the middle of a Hogwarts hallway. Harry attributed the latter to the food he had eaten that night. The former dream, however, could not be attributed to anything else but something incredibly suspicious.

Whatever the case, Harry felt it was prudent to pay a visit to Dumbledore. He was worried about the dreams and certain other things better not mentioned. The latter topic was slightly disturbing to Harry. He would have rather not thought about it, but he should still talk to Dumbledore. The wizened Headmaster was very knowledgeable about all sorts of things and could probably explain what was wrong. The thought had crossed his mind to go talk to Sirius, but he didn't want his godfather to think he was crazy. Well, Sirius probably wouldn't think that he was crazy (this was Sirius, after all), but Harry had the feeling that Sirius would overreact. His godfather had been rather tense lately, as far as Harry could tell. In fact, their last conversation had been rather enjoyable; Harry spent the better part of an hour talking about what the twins were going to do to Umbridge in the near future.

It was interesting, actually. Sirius was acting more like an adult nowadays. Harry didn't think the change was particularly bad. He just hadn't thought that Sirius would take what Mrs. Weasley had said to heart. Sirius was still treating Harry like he was an adult, but he never slipped and called him James since the one time in the summer. Everyone had noticed when Sirius had started behaving slightly differently over the summer. He'd been completely fine during fourth year, if Harry discounted the living-in-a-cave bit. That was weird by anyone's standards. Harry didn't think Sirius particularly enjoyed it, either.

Regardless, Sirius was acting weird in a different way. Ron was acting strangely, too, except Ron wouldn't say what was wrong with him no matter how much Harry bothered him. Hermione was tight-lipped, too, but she at least assured him that it had nothing to do with Harry. The point was, however, that Harry was going to go talk to Dumbledore because he was having very strange dreams that normal people certainly did not have. Plus, he was starting to feel bizarrely happy or angry at the exact wrong time. Well, except for when Cho dumped Cedric. That was definitely all Harry's feelings. He still kind of felt bad for Cedric. Just a little. The two of them had developed a mutual agreement to not discuss what happened at the cemetery.

Harry stopped in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. Now what was the password again? It was probably a candy and very unlikely to be Muggle, even if Dumbledore did have a fondness for lemon drops. Maybe Harry should have gone to visit McGonagall before wandering over to the Headmaster's Office. It was kind of early in the morning, though, so Harry decided to just stand in front of the gargoyle until he remembered what the password could be. For some reason beyond his control, Harry could only think of a skit off of a rather amusing television programme Dudley had been watching that summer. Honestly, who would put something that ridiculous in—Oh, well, no harm trying it. "Cockroach clusters," Harry stated. The gargoyle moved out of the way to let Harry up the stairs. The door to the office was slightly ajar, and Harry was about to walk in, but he thankfully stopped. Dumbledore was speaking to some man. It would have been rather inappropriate if Harry had just barged in while Dumbledore was talking to some school governor or member of the Wizengamot.

"…so, Headmaster, I have been commanded to join the Order," the voice said nervously. Harry wondered what was going on. Who did the commanding? Harry was obligated to investigate what exactly was going on. It was like a moral imperative. He looked around the corner of the door and was rather surprised with his discovery. The mystery guest was the slightly insane guy from a couple of weeks ago. He looked far more serious now. The man was slightly favoring his left arm, as if he had hurt it recently. Harry decided that he had to know what this guy was up to. The man continued, "I don't think they'll take no for an answer, and I'd rather not try their patience any more than I already have."

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replying, "Mr. White, I think we both know that it would have been best had you joined the Order a long time past." Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. What did that mean? Well, obviously this guy, White, should have done that, but was Dumbledore implying what Harry thought he was implying? Harry hoped he hadn't heard right. "However, I am quite certain that your addition will be rather suspect to the rest of the Order," Dumbledore added, "and it may not be entirely appropriate for you to attend meetings."

"There are only the two of us, Headmaster," White protested, not seemingly expecting anything to change but making an attempt nonetheless. "I know that no one will trust me or even believe me, and I wouldn't blame them. They'd be right, after all, but if Be—the others find out I'm not doing what I'm supposed to, then…" White got a distant look on his face and made no move to continue. Still observing, Harry decided his earlier surmise was correct. The guy was definitely a defecting Death Eater. The question was who the other of the 'two' White was refer—Oh. Snape. So White was not a _defecting_ Death Eater but a Death Eater _spy_. That was entirely different. Harry was curious as to why Dumbledore was accepting this. Granted, White had wandered around the castle earlier in the year, but he was still an ex-Death Eater. Well, current?

Dumbledore nodded and admitted, "It is very dangerous, but I am more worried about the Order accepting you too quickly. One or more of them may recognize you, Mr. White. There are a number of men and women in the Order who went to Hogwarts around the same time as you did." After a slight hesitation, Dumbledore further warned, "As the location of our headquarters is the family home of that deceased young man we discussed some time ago when you mentioned that locket, I feel that you would be less likely to keep your identity hidden for a suitable amount of time, especially since you were rather close to certain parties." Now Harry was confused, and he felt like he had a right to be. Wait a second. Sirius had a brother, didn't he? Maybe Dumbledore meant that White was friends with Sirius' brother, so there might be something in Grimmauld that would let people recognize White. Harry tried to remember what Sirius had said about his younger brother when Harry had asked.

"The Order is housed in—" White started, but it was apparent that he found that he couldn't continue. Harry was slightly interested. After all, he had absolutely no idea how the Fidelius Charm worked in practice, as it had failed rather miserably the only other time Harry had ever heard of it being used. White was completely horrified by the fact the Order was in Grimmauld. Even Harry could tell that. "How could—Sirius actually consented to that?" White demanded, shocked.

"It was actually Sirius's idea to use the house as the base of the Order. He felt that it should be put to some use instead of rotting away," Dumbledore answered calmly. He went on to explain, "Molly Weasley surpervised the cleaning over the summer. The house had fallen into some disrepair after the last occupant vacated the premises. There is still a great amount of cleaning to do, but some headway has been made since the Order moved in over the summer."

White's face had become unreadable, which Harry found rather suspicious. Clearly, White had just been incredibly upset at the knowledge, but now it was if he could not have cared less. Harry was a little frustrated with White's contradictory behavior, and he continued to be so until he remembered what Sirius had said. He had called his brother something to the effect of an idiot who was impressionable enough to believe what their parents had said. Painted a rather bad picture of Sirius' brother, Harry thought. Fred and George had later said to Harry that Sirius probably didn't mean what he said. When Harry had asked why they thought that, the twins had just looked at each other and said that sometimes you talked badly of people you really cared about after they were gone. It made the loss more bearable or something.

Finally, White spoke once more. In an impassive voice, he said, "I take it, then, that the house cleaning hasn't been going well?" Harry was slightly irritated with the man's behavior. Why couldn't White be easier to understand? Was it really that hard to flat out go and ask what he wanted to? Judging by how involved White seemed to be about everything else and the rest of the content of the conversation, Harry could tell that the apparent lack of reaction from the man meant that he was interested.

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. Harry knew that was an affirmation that something intriguing really was going on. Why did all of the adults in the Order of the Phoenix insist on keeping him in the dark? Well, Sirius didn't, and neither did Lupin, really, but they didn't count. Harry also supposed that Mrs. Weasley was just trying to protect them from the occasionally unpleasant nature of the world, but that was still no reason to try to keep Harry from knowing about what was going on with the evil Dark Lord who was determined to kill him. "Oh, I would not necessarily say that, Mr. White," Dumbledore replied to the younger man's question. "You do need to remember that the house has not been inhabited for nearly ten years, and a house that large is quite a task to take care of for the one house elf. Certain members of the Order do believe that said house elf is… how may I put this delicately? … mentally unstable and that reason is why the house is in such a disarray," the Headmaster further explained. Switching subjects, he continued, "However, you will be added to the Order. I do suggest that you avoid meetings for the time being, at least until all of the others are informed of the situation." White paled at that, but Dumbledore said reassuringly, "The general situation only, Mr. White. Not the full situation."

White nodded distractedly, obviously thinking about something else. He sat in pensive silence for a moment, and after a couple of seconds, Harry decided it might be sensible to knock on the door. Standing completely behind the door, Harry knocked. He supposed that the sound broke White out of his thoughts, and the Headmaster invited Harry to enter. As Harry opened the door, Dumbledore did not seem too surprised to see him, which was not unexpected.

White turned around and stared at Harry, currently looking a bit like his last name. Harry guessed it was because whatever the two adults had been talking about was very secret or somesuch. It wasn't like Harry was a walking information leak. He was the last person to give information to Voldemort! Why didn't everyone get that? It was frustrating; that's what it was. Endlessly frustrating. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Harry started. He realized that it would be rather strange and awkward to confess that he was hearing voices again in front of a complete stranger. "Obviously you're busy; I'll come back later," he continued. He, Harry J. Potter, was supposed to be a Gryffindor! Where was his courage?

"Don't—don't leave on my account," White suddenly stammered out. He stood abruptly and nodded to Dumbledore. "It was a pleasure meeting with you. Maybe we could continue this conversation later. Mr. Potter seems to be very worried about something. I could take my leave and come back later. I was planning on seeing Artemesia and my children anyway," White explained. Harry realized that there was something familiar about Mr. White, ignoring the man's crazy romp through the castle.

Harry was about to protest when Dumbledore agreed, "Yes, of course. I have some concerns and other work to do. My schedule is free at the end of the school day if you still wish to continue the conversation. Otherwise, you may expect an owl by the end of the week." White nodded again and departed, carefully avoiding Harry, who turned to watch him leave. White shut the door behind him. After inviting Harry to sit, Dumbledore asked, "Now, Harry, what would you like to discuss?"

Harry was hesitant to reply, but if he didn't say something now, he never would. "Well, Headmaster, I've been having these strange dreams," he started, a little nervous. "Well, I suppose the strange parts are normal, but I keep having the same dream right after all the dreams. I'm walking down a corridor. The walls are black, and there isn't much lighting. I finally reach the end, and there's a door. Then I wake up, but I just feel that something's off. I can't say what, though." Harry paused, wondering if he should mention the odd emotions that just kept popping up. He decided to continue, "I've also been feeling angry for no apparent reason at times where I was really happy right before. I know that sounds like normal teenage angst or something, but the opposite happens, too. Like a couple days ago, I had every reason to be upset and annoyed, but all of a sudden I was incredibly happy. A minute or two later, I was back to being kind of grouchy."

Harry was having some trouble communicating what he wanted to say, and he found it frustrating. The dreams were definitely not right, and the feelings were just… alien. He tried again to elucidate, "What I mean is that this corridor dream and the weird emotions feel like they belong to someone else. I feel disconnected from it, and when I stopped to think about it, I realized I'd been like this the whole summer." Harry hoped Dumbledore believed him. He knew everything he had admitted sounded mad, but it was true.

Pensive, Dumbledore considered for a moment before asking, "Harry, do these dreams and emotions happen to coincide with your scar hurting? Does it feel anything like when you have encountered Voldemort?" Harry nodded in reply, and Dumbledore continued a touch regretfully, "It is just as I had suspected, then. I do believe that Voldemort may be mentally connected with you. It is in all likelihood a side effect of the curse. However, this development is a double-edged sword. We do not know if Voldemort is aware that you may see into his mind, but I suspect that this ability is shared. In either case, discretion is the better part of valor. Therefore, it would be best for you to learn Occlumency, a kind of magic art that involves shielding your thoughts from intrusion."

Harry was relieved that Dumbledore believed him and slightly creeped out by the fact that he had a mind-link with Voldemort. More importantly, Harry was annoyed because he had to learn a new subject on top of all of his normal classes _and_ the Quidditch captaincy.

A thought struck him. "Sir? Does this mean I have to learn meditation?" he asked. If that were the case, Harry had the feeling that he would be terrible at Occlumency. "Oh, and who is going to teach me?" he inquired. After pausing, he added hopefully, "Does Sirius know how?"

Dumbledore seemed to want to say something possibly enigmatic, but he settled for breaking the news normally: "Yes, Harry, Occlumency does require meditation. As to your godfather, while Sirius has had some training, Professor Snape is the best choice as your tutor. At the present, there are certain duties I have that prevent me from teaching you myself, but Severus is by far the next best."

Harry forced a smile, and Dumbledore told him some more about the lessons. When the meeting was finished and Harry was walking back to breakfast, he got to thinking about the entire situation. Oh, it was absolutely stellar. Absolutely bloody stellar. Now he understood how Ron could have been so disturbed at the beginning of the week. Granted, it was probably nothing as bad as Dumbledore informing him that he would have to have _private tutoring sessions with Snape_, but Harry understood his friend better now. At least the day wouldn't get any worse. And, hey, today was when they were going to have practice against boggarts (it was so obvious Sirius was just clearing them out from Grimmauld), so the only direction the day could go was up.

His mind wandering, Harry started wondering why Ron had been acting so spare lately. All Harry and Hermione could get out of him was something about closets and snogging. Eh, probably didn't matter anyway. They'd find out eventually.

* * *

_**Notes:** __Still once a month updates until spring semester ends. Also, it doesn't seem like the fic's going to be ending until the sixtieth chapter or so now... I wrote two chapters a weekend or two ago and realized that the second (third?) part of the fic is not going to be as short as I hoped it might. As usual, a big thanks to everyone who took the time to read, and a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed or will review._

_**Coming Soon:** Sirius has a bad feeling about mostly everything, boggarts are generally horrifying, and then everything gets worse._


	25. Caught in a Landslide

Sirius had a bad feeling about this. The feeling was the kind one gets before running alone into a phalanx of storm troopers or Death Eaters or the like. He did not have anything to worry about in particular, but the next class was Harry's. Logically, he knew that the only two students he had to worry about with the boggarts were Harry and perhaps Neville, if only because of what Bellatrix did to Frank and Alice. The other classes had gone well, so there was no reason that this one would not. Right? Right. Then why was he still pacing at the front of the classroom?

Sirius knew he was not going to be as lucky with this class as he had been with the rest of them. There were too many students who might have boggart forms not as easy to deal with as Neville or Hermione's third-year fears. Still, what if the boggart turned into Voldemort for Harry? Well, actually, Sirius would probably just find the nearest student and shove them in front of the boggart. A more pressing question was what he would do if the boggart turned into a dementor. It wouldn't really do for the teacher to have a nervous breakdown in front of the entire class, would it? Why wasn't he calming down? Thankfully, the door opened and distracted Sirius. He was grateful, really, even when he realized who his visitor was.

Maybe the idiot was the source of the bad feeling. It certainly would make sense. He might as well make the most of it. "What are you doing here, White?" Sirius asked, still pacing. Dammit, why was he so nervous? "Get the shit beaten out of you again? Or is this just a social call?"

White shrugged and sat down at one of the desks. Sirius figured he could work this to his advantage. After all, a second adult to run interference with the boggarts would be useful. Putting his feet up on the desk and leaning back in the chair, White replied, "A combination, I suppose. Dumbledore's let me in the Order, and we were in the middle of a discussion when Potter came in, so I'm waiting around until the end of the day."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Just when he thought White couldn't get any stranger, he went and proved Sirius wrong. Couldn't the younger man just pick one level of insanity and stick to it? Even Sirius was coping with trying to stay relatively normal. His brain then caught up with the contents of White's reply. Sirius stopped mid-pace and turned to glare at White. "What do you mean, you're in the Order now?" he demanded before continuing much less harshly, "And what's wrong with Harry?"

White was very hesitant to reply, but after a moment, he said tentatively, "Well, Harry's concerned about some dreams or the like. I wasn't trying that hard to eavesdrop. As to the Order, trust me, I don't like it either. I'd rather not drag anyone else into this mess, but if I don't, let's just say that no one's going to be very happy with me."

Sirius believed the younger man. During the last war, he had seen enough of what the Death Eaters did to those that didn't follow orders. That said, Sirius didn't understand why White was going to be on the bad side of the Death Eaters if he _didn't_ join the Order. Confused, Sirius inquired, "What do you mean by that, White? I thought you were pretending to be a Death Eater?"

White sighed, leaning back in the chair. Sirius had a feeling White was going to overbalance and fall backwards, and then Sirius would have to take him to the Hospital Wing. He did not want to do that again. "I am. They found me out and want a spy, so _voilà_," he explained indignantly. A second later, he looked rather sheepish and asked, "I'm not so pathetic that the Order wouldn't have accepted me had I wanted to join, right?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Sirius replied, staring at White like the latter was insane. Of course, at that moment, White overbalanced and fell backwards onto the floor. Sirius cringed and walked over. White was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and thoroughly irritated. "You all right?" Sirius asked, which resulted in White turning to stare at him and saying, "Yes, I am. Thank you for asking. I think I'll just lie here for a while. Out of curiosity, do you happen to have any asprin?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Just when I though you couldn't get any worse," he muttered, mostly to himself, as he helped White stand. He was thankful White hadn't hit his head on one of the tables. Sirius didn't think he could have dealt with much more drama today, but he remembered his original plan. "Say, White—" Sirius realized that he didn't really know how to phrase what he wanted to ask, and he wondered why he was asking White. Burying what little remained of his pride, Sirius asked, "White, could you help me with this next class? We're going over boggarts today, and I don't want to find out what I'm afraid of in front of the entire class if it comes to that. So, I'm assuming you, like your daughter, are afraid of something mostly harmless. She has a rabbit phobia, by the way."

"It's _the_ rabbit, Sirius. You know, the sharp, pointy teeth, and the hand-grenade?"

Sirius restrained himself from hitting himself in the head with a blunt object. He settled for covering his eyes with a hand. White was about to answer explain further, but Sirius cut him off, "Okay; at least your son's afraid of something respectable, like zombies." Sirius tried to keep in mind that as long as White was in his classroom, he wasn't somewhere else, like the potions lab, where Snape would probably kill him. Therefore, Sirius was doing a good deed by dealing with White. They needed Snape to spy on Voldemort, and he couldn't do that very well from Azkaban, as much as Sirius was loath to admit it. Well, he guessed they needed White, too.

"Zombies?" White repeated doubtfully. "Why zombies? Inferi are much more frightening. I mean, sure, they don't talk, but zombies look so fake sometimes. Inferi are just…" White shuddered. He stood there for a moment before continuing, seemingly intrigued, "So you don't know what your boggart is? Man. I thought you would've found out before unleashing them on the students." White paused again, surprising Sirius as he looked slightly guilty for a moment. Then again, White had suggested Sirius revisit whatever the boggart could dredge up. It was excusable if not exactly polite, and it _was_ a legitimate question. However, White replied, "Yeah, sure. I'll help. I don't know what my boggart is, though. It's probably something easy to make funny, like inferi."

"How do you make inferi amusing? Have them doing the can-can or something? That's even worse," Sirius mused. White looked horrified he had even brought up inferi, and moved off to the side of the room to sit down on the bench next to the wall. Hurriedly, Sirius reassured him, "Don't worry, White, no one will probably need to be saved from their boggart."

"Right. What's the worst that can happen?" White said in return, still distressed about the mental image of inferi as can-can dancers. At least, Sirius reflected, it wasn't like he had suggested something as ridiculous as the Death Eaters in the same get-ups. Apparently White's train of thought might have gone where Sirius' had, because he then exclaimed, "Why did I say that? Now the class going to go to hell in an hand basket!"

Sirius concurred, but he let White flip out on his own. It was oddly calming, letting someone else worry instead. Maybe class wouldn't go too badly. "Oh, God, I'm doomed," Sirius agreed. Why did he think? He just had to jinx them, didn't he? Sirius resumed pacing in front of White, who watched. Didn't he have anything better to do?

After a couple minutes and a frustrated sigh, White said, "Sirius, calm down. It's almost time for class. Nothing is going to go wrong if class has gone well with the first years and the seventh years. The seventh-years probably were worse than the fifth-years will be."

Sirius stopped pacing again. White had a valid point. Nothing had really gone wrong with the seventh years that they could not handle themselves. Of course, Sirius took a more laissez-faire approach with the sixth- and seventh-years than with the fourth- and fifth-years. The remaining members of the student body still had tame boggarts, so he did not worry about them as much. As much as he was loath to, Sirius replied, "You're right, White." He paused for a moment, wondering how White knew which two classes he had already taught today, before switching topics entirely and asking, "So, what prompted the sudden induction into the Order?"

White grimaced and became very interested in the floor. Sirius wondered if he should not have asked. The other man was generally very (translation: too) outspoken and seemed to not be able to shut up, so the reticence that the man was exhibiting was slightly disconcerting. Sirius was about to tell White to ignore the question when he answered, "They figured it out, Sirius. I told you already. They know I'm a spy, and they know who I am. Because I came here instead of St. Mungo's the last time, they figured out that I don't hold with their views. You can guess what they threatened as leverage."

"So that's where you were these past couple of weeks. Wherever they are and St. Mungo's?" Sirius guessed. This guy had the luck of a black cat or a broken mirror, which is to say that he had a lot of luck, just none of it was good. When White made no move to answer, Sirius resumed, "How are you doing, otherwise? I assume you only got out of the hospital today; ironic, though, today being Armistice. Nowhere near the end of the war for either of us."

"Eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month," White murmured.

Sirius grinned and shook his head. Sometimes this guy was unbelievable. "You know, White, I've no clue why you had the brilliant idea of joining the Death Eaters. It's just unnatural for a Death Eater to know or care about the Great War," he said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Sirius was well aware he was failing miserably at doing so, but it was the thought that counted.

"I never understood that, myself, you know. How could we choose to be so ignorant of the Muggle world? We've no right to think we're superior because we can do magic," White argued, trying to avoid the subject of how he was feeling. Sirius was not going to fall for the ploy. He was not going to let White off that easily.

"You didn't answer my original question, White," Sirius reminded him, "and, to be honest, you look like hell." White glared at Sirius but remained silent and resumed staring at the floor shortly thereafter. Sirius started to wonder at the other's motives for staying. Sighing, he accused, "You came here because everyone else told you to go away, didn't you? I assume you didn't visit the Hospital Wing, because Pomfrey wouldn't let you leave."

"I'm fine, Black," White replied brusquely. Sirius left him alone. He shouldn't alienate the man if he was going to help with the next class. Besides, White was clearly dealing with some other issues at the moment, aside from the situation with the Death Eaters. As to them, Sirius figured blackmail or death threats against White's family were involved. The latter seemed the more likely with White.

"Have it your way, then," Sirius said placatingly. Why was it that whenever he tried to stop acting confrontational towards White that everything he said always came out wrong? More importantly, why did he care? It wasn't like they were friends. To be frank, the man drove him mad sometimes, but Sirius nevertheless wasn't too bothered to deal with him. He did not dislike White. The man was annoying and infuriating, but Sirius didn't really mind the company.

Sirius turned to notice that the students were starting to enter the room and wondered why whoever did the scheduling insisted on putting the Slytherins and Gryffindors together for Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was about as intelligent as leaving him and White in a room unattended, which made sense if White really was a Slytherin. Sirius was starting to have doubts about that particular declaration. White struck Sirius more like a Hufflepuff.

When all the students were present, Sirius started class. He noticed that Ron looked particularly nervous. Well, arachnophobia wasn't the most pleasant of fears. (Especially for older brothers who had to kill the damned bugs for their arachnophobic younger brothers whenever and wherever they appeared.) In any case, Sirius said, "As you are all well aware, today we're going to be working with boggarts. I know Professor Lupin covered them with you in your third year, but practice is never bad. You never know when you might run into one." Sirius then gestured at White, who was attempting to look inconspicuous, and explained, "This is Mr. White. Some of you may remember him from a couple weeks ago, but he decided to sit in and help. As I've mentioned in class earlier this week, as you grow older, your fears tend to become more complex and less childish. So, if any one of you feel you cannot deal with your boggart, don't hesitate to say anything, and one of us will step in."

As hoped, the fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds were staring at him blankly, just daring him to explain why he was warning them and probably indignant that he felt they needed two adults as back-up. Was it too much to ask for them to remain so sure of themselves? Probably. Knowing his luck, Sirius figured that the first person to face a boggart would probably see Voldemort. "So, who wants to go first?" Sirius asked the class, ignoring how White muttering about how patronizing Sirius was acting. Wonderful. Obviously someone thought it would be funny if Sirius had to look after yet another teenager, even if this one was overgrown and seriously in need of a keeper. White had said he had a brother. Maybe White had driven his brother to insanity, too. Sirius wouldn't be particularly surprised.

As Sirius mused on his misfortune, the students had gone ahead and readied themselves to face the boggart. Dean Thomas was the first to step up to bat. Sirius had managed to (pay Mundungus, whose greatest fear seemed to be loosing money, to) shove the boggart into a trunk. After Sirius gave the go-ahead, Thomas opened the lid. Out came Umbridge, and Sirius had some trouble keeping from laughing. Apparently the teenagers had no such problem with trying to stay stoic. Sirius half wondered if the boggart would disappear before anyone else got a chance to take a turn.

Theodore Nott made a particularly amusing but inappropriate suggestion. Most of the class turned to stare at him in shock. Nott usually didn't speak, let alone give speak like that. Defending himself, he argued, "What? Everyone was thinking it!" Thomas took the advice, and the class was now in good spirits, even if they did not start off this time with Snape in drag.

Lavender Brown went next. Her fear was fairy-tale inspired, and Sirius swore he heard White mutter, "Not even my cousin's that vain." The comment was not entirely unfounded (according to her fear, she thought herself to be the Sleeping Beauty), but it was a little harsh. A Slytherin, Millicent, went after her. She was afraid of drowning but dealt with the boggart quickly and efficiently. Sirius noticed that White looked somewhat uncomfortable himself.

The next student's boggart was particularly entertaining. Seamus had the perfectly reasonable fear of Death Eaters, but when he cast the spell, nothing seemed to change. The cloaks then fell away to reveal men and women in colorful spandex. Fewer people than Sirius suspected recognized even the one in the bat-suit. Crabbe and Goyle were both afraid of giant butterflies. Sirius wisely chose not to comment. He and the majority of their classmates did not want to know. Some more students went, including Parvati Patil and her memorable fear of the _Monster Book of Monsters_, which became a book about kittens and rainbows. Sirius was not sure he wanted to know how the students came up with the antithesis to their fears.

Then it was time for Harry's turn. Sirius considered telling him that he did not need to go through with the exercise, but he decided Harry would not appreciate the comment. He immediately regretted not saying anything when the boggart became Voldemort. White stopped slouching against the wall and came to attention. Boggart-Voldemort moved to turn around, and Sirius was about to step in when Harry suddenly grinned and shouted, "Riddiculus!" By the time Voldemort finished turning, there was a blue, furry thing in his place that demanded, "Cookie?" Only the Muggle-borns and half-bloods seemed to get whatever Harry had done. Well, White did, too, but aside from smiling he chose not to explain. Thankfully, Harry's choice defused the situation

After the class calmed down (the furry blue monstrosity had started singing about cookies), Sirius said, in an attempt to get the class back on topic, "Neville, why don't you go next?" Neville had the look of a deer in the headlights, and Sirius remembered that while wishing for a normal boggart, like Snape, to appear in order to smooth over the fact that Harry's boggart was Voldemort coming back to life, Neville was now probably more terrified of Bellatrix than of Snape. Sirius was too late to stop Neville, because he had already approached the boggart. Sirius winced as the boggart did in fact turn into Bella.

Neville was scared stiff, but White broke in, "She isn't real. It's only a boggart. It may represent what we fear the most in the world, but they can only do imitations. Trust me, this boggart is only a poor imitation of her." Sirius restrained himself from raising an eyebrow. Sure, this version of Bellatrix was not what she probably looked like now (Sirius _had_ been in the cell next to her, after all), but the boggart looked like a Bellatrix Sirius did remember. She was cleaner, healthier, and far less insane than the real one currently was. Also, Sirius was disinclined to believe the man whose hands were shaking.

Neville, apparently, was likewise disinclined to believe White, but Sirius doubted Neville had been listening in the first place, anyway. Regardless, Sirius said reassuringly, "Neville, it's fine if you would prefer to take a pass. Yes, it is good to face your fears, but there are some things that you have a right to be afraid of and in this case very good reason to be afraid."

Neville turned to look at Sirius, who was edging slowly between Neville and the boggart. Granted, Sirius had never really found Bellatrix frightening, just sick, but his brother had always been vaguely afraid of their eldest cousin. Neville nodded slowly. Despite that Sirius was willing to throw caution to the wind and find out what exactly his boggart was (he prayed that it was his mother; there was something wrong when she was the lesser of two evils), Terry walked in front of Neville instead.

Luckily, very few children in the class recognized who appeared, but White now looked very close to having a nervous breakdown. Neville remained flipped out, and Draco was confused. "And that was supposed to improve the situation how?" the teenager demanded acerbically. Sirius kept himself from glaring and bit back an equally sarcastic reply.

On the bright side, now at least the boggart was truer to life.

Sirius didn't buy that either, and it was his thought in the first place. Harry was beginning to catch on to who exactly the boggart was impersonating as it started to stalk towards White, who was backing into the wall and not in any condition to listen to anything. One of the students, a Muggle-born, asked a student next to her, "Who is that? She looks bloody mad." The rest of the class's murmuring was along the same lines. Sirius was glad that no one had updated Bellatrix's photograph lately. He hadn't believed it possible, but she looked worse than when he last saw her. Of course, she hadn't been covered in blood then, either.

In order to keep the day from becoming even more of a catastrophe, Sirius contemplated his options: 1. Shove Ron in front of the boggart and hope he was still afraid of spiders; 2. Ask Hermione to step in front of the boggart and hope McGonagall wouldn't be too upset; or 3. Convince Malfoy to bite the bullet in the name of family loyalty. Well, the first option appeared to be the best.

"Ron, you still afraid of spiders?" Sirius demanded quickly. Ron started to speak, but Sirius, who was _not_ starting to become a little frantic, cut him off, declaring, "Good," and maneuvered Weasley between the boggart and White. Sirius immediately regretting doing so.

Oh, that was not good. Not bloody good at all. Yep. His life was going to hell in a hand basket, even more so than usual. Recovering from his shock rather quickly, White muttered, "About fucking time," which prompted Sirius to push White back at the boggart.

Obviously, they were both very mature adults.

Not recovered in the slightest, Sirius then turned to the class and said briskly, "Well, seeing as Mr. Weasley now has an interesting phobia concerning romance between teachers, Miss Granger, would you please have your turn?"

Unfortunately, the class was about as shell-shocked as their instructor. No one noticed as White managed to hide behind Ron again. They were also staring at Sirius. Well, some were staring at the real him (and by "some," one is meant to read "Ron"), and the rest of the class was staring at the boggart, which could apparently pretend to be two people.

"Hermione? Please?" Sirius repeated a little pathetically. Oh, God, the entire school would have heard about this by lunch. An amazingly detached portion of his brain wondered when Umbridge would find out. Snape was never going to let this go, was he?

Hermione, alas, looked to be scarred for life. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have realized Sirius did have a life, as strange as it seemed. On the bright side, Harry didn't look angry with Sirius. Unfortunately, none of that helped the current situation.

On a completely unrelated note, White was going to die painfully. Very, very painfully. Artemesia would forgive Sirius once she found out about all this.

"Hermione?" Sirius repeated, ignoring White's stifled laughter.

Thankfully, Hermione had been galvanized by pity to save him. Another reason could be that Hermione did not want to see her best friend's godfather making out with her favorite teacher. It was probably the latter. So, Hermione had sighed exasperatedly as she pushed a dazed Ron out of the way. Her boggart was not as terrifying as Bellatrix or scarring as… well, Sirius was going to pretend that little episode didn't happen, but the majority of the class was slightly disturbed by it. For Hermione's part, she looked scared out of her wits for one moment before casting _Riddiculus_. The robed walking corpse tripped over its own robe and collapsed onto a pile on the floor.

White said, "Well, that was anti-climactic."

Luckily, the class then resumed continuing smoothly after that. Once all of the fifth-years had exited the room, Sirius turned to White to yell at him. He stopped, however, when he noticed that White's good humor had melted away to reveal he still hadn't recovered from his boggart-Bella. The younger man was sitting against the wall, head in his hands. "Sorry, Black, but I don't think I'll be able to help with the next class," he apologized distantly.

"No problem. I didn't expect you to, White," Sirius replied. He should have realized that had been nervous laughter. Well, Ron had been quite the distraction, but Sirius knew he still should have realized. "Hey, um, there's a couch in my office if you want it," he offered.

Studying Sirius' expression, White seemed to consider it before slowly asking, "Is it sunny in there?" The hesitance in the younger man's voice made Sirius wonder what had happened to land the man in St. Mungo's this time if he was _that_ afraid of Bellatrix.

Sirius nodded. "Yeah. It can be kind of annoying, actually," he mentioned as he walked over to White and helped him up. "I don't have class for about fifteen minutes, so I'll show you there," he continued. "I mean, I know you know where it is, but I figure…"

White smiled weakly and said, "Thanks. Hey, could you not tell Artemesia about this? She'll only tell Vesta, and I don't want to worry her. It's not like this was really anything, anyway. Hell, I could have been anywhere and stumbled on a boggart."

"I won't," Sirius promised, and they walked down the hall to his office in silence. After shutting the door behind them, Sirius said, "White, I know you don't particularly like me, much less trust me, but just take my advice this once. I know having the living daylights scared out of you is different than dealing with dementors, but you won't feel as bad in your animagus form. Animals tend to have less complex emotions than humans." Taking a breath, Sirius continued, "Well, I have to go to class. Wouldn't want to be late, right?"

White stared at him in something nearing shock but said, "I know, but, thank you, regardless." He didn't leave Sirius enough time to reply before he turned into an overgrown house-cat and curling up on a sunny spot on the carpet near the desk.

Of course, Sirius wasn't particularly surprised that even the younger man's animagus form was showing signs of stress. Apparently stressed leopards had tails the same diameter as baseball bats. He shook his head and left the office, returning to the classroom.

The third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin class was much less chaotic and stressful than the fifth-years' had been. The students had normal fears, like vampires and, loath as he was to say it, werewolves, unlike the giant sparkly butterflies and teachers making out of the prior class. In all honestly, he and Artemesia had not been _that_ ardent. They had been half-asleep, for Merlin's sake! Ron Weasley had quite the imagination, probably due to the sexual frustration between him and Hermione.

Finally, the last final year was about to face the boggart. It was the girl, Gemma. He wondered what she would be afraid of. She didn't seem the type to freak out about something like mummies or zombies, and while he wouldn't begrudge her a phobia, he had a feeling that would not be what the boggart would choose to become. Sirius hated to be proven right, but he just thanked his lucky stars that Gemma had been the last of the third-years.

There was a dead body on the floor, and Sirius was immediately reminded of Molly's encounter with one of the boggarts in Grimmauld. He hurriedly dismissed the class, even though there was still some time left before they had to be anywhere else. Gemma was frozen in place, staring at the body. Sirius looked. The younger-looking man was admittedly covered in blood, but he was wearing the red robes of an Auror. The body was face-down, but instead of trying to take a better look as his natural curiosity demanded, Sirius crouched down next to the girl, who was on her knees in shock and obviously wanted to flee. Tentatively, he asked, "Who is it?"

Her eyes never leaving the body, Gemma replied with an eerie calm, "My dad." Sirius frowned. The boggart had taken the form of a man far too young to have a daughter Gemma's age. "He was an Auror during the war… At-at least, I th-think he was," she continued softly, starting to break down a bit. "He—He's in a lot of Mum's pictures, th-the ones she hides under the bed." Well, that made more sense, Sirius thought. If the girl only saw photographs of a twenty-something man, then she wouldn't know what he would have looked like now.

Trying to distract her, Sirius asked, "Have you ever asked her about it?"

Gemma looked at him like he was many cards short of a full deck. "Are you kidding?" she asked a little hysterically. "You know how Mum gets! She never says anything!" Sirius just chalked the girl's behavior up to nerves. He didn't know the girl's mother. Sure, he knew she was related to the idiot in his office, but he was damned sure he had never met the girl's mother.

Unless… But that was impossible, wasn't it?

Well, the girl was around the right age, wasn't she? And her father—the man who she thought was her father, he corrected himself—had been an Auror she had never met. The evidence were there, and if the shoe fit…

Sirius let himself look more closely at the face of the man and immediately felt sick. The others had been right. There was something terribly wrong about seeing yourself dead.

* * *

_**Notes:** __A big thanks to everyone who took the time to read, and a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed._

_**Coming Soon:** Sirius's boggart._


	26. Escape from Reality

Sirius had no idea what to do. The girl was on the verge of tears, and he was possibly the worst person on earth at dealing with grief, his own or otherwise. His reaction to the latter tended to be worse than the reaction to his own. He would generally avoid anyone who was grieving. He knew he shouldn't, and he tried to change, but he hadn't. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind he didn't want to.

Still, he couldn't just stand by and watch this girl crying because she was almost alone in the room with a boggart in the guise of the man who might be her father. Placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, he suggested quietly, "Why don't we get out of here and go Floo your mother?" He would rather be wrong than right, but now was not the time to make wishes like that.

Gemma made no move to reply. She was shaking as she stared at the fake corpse on the floor. The body did not look like Sirius Orion Black in the slightest. It was a trick of the light that had caused him to mistake the boggart for a younger version of him. Sirius was about to repeat himself when the girl launched herself into his arms and started sobbing into his shirt. Comforting people was not his forte, not in the slightest. However, he did manage to calm her down slightly by just being there and letting her cry. It was hard for him to keep his calm as he continued to stare at the boggart. The girl shouldn't have a fear like that this early in her life, not something so far beyond her control. Breaking his eyes away from the boggart that might have been morphing into a different dead body (he was between her and the boggart now, not that he cared), Sirius murmured, "C'mon. Let's get you out of here."

"And find Mommy?" Gemma asked pathetically, still attached to Sirius' shirt.

"Yeah, we'll find your mum," he promised.

* * *

In a state of shock, Gemma detachedly wondered why Professor Black was so upset. She didn't mind it, certainly. After all, seeing her dad (well, she thought he was her dad, and Uncle Terry sure hadn't contradicted her when she'd asked at the beginning of the year) like _that_ had not been what she had expected from the boggart. She'd expected something else, something reasonable like a man-eating grilled cheese sandwich or Aunt Hestia off her medication, not—not that. So, she felt perfectly justified at her outburst and about the fact that she had yet to detach herself from her professor.

Who was acting strangely. Why was he acting weird? Had he recognized her dad? Had they known each other? It seemed like Uncle Terry knew her dad, and Professor Black certainly knew her uncle, so it followed that her dad must have known Professor Black. There was logic there. Really. Somewhere. Well, about as much logic was in her mental argument as her professor's chain of thought. Why was he talking to her uncle now? And why was her uncle even at Hogwarts? Wasn't he in the hospital again Gemma mentally slapped herself. She wasn't supposed to know he was sick again. Mum told her not to tell her cousins.

"Look, White, I just need you to go make sure no one goes in the room, all right?" Professor Black said. He was trying to convince Uncle Terry to deal with the boggart.

"It'll come out, Black, and you know it. I'm sorry, but I can't deal with it," Uncle Terry said firmly. "Look, what's the problem, anyway?" He then seemed to notice Gemma clinging. Ignoring what Professor Black said next, Uncle Terry knelt down and asked Gemma, "What's wrong? What's going on?" before turning on her professor and, as he resumed standing, demanded, "What the hell happened?"

"If you were listening, you'd know I said I was taking her to talk to her mother, and I'll be damned if I give a boggart free rein of that room," Professor Black snapped. Gemma hoped they didn't start fighting, but Professor Black just seemed so angry all of a sudden. "All you have to do is stand outside the door, White! I'm not asking you to banish that damn thing!"

Gemma's uncle looked furious, but instead of telling Professor Black off he growled, "Fine. You know where Artemesia is better than I do, but you are damn well helping me catch that boggart, you hear me?" Gemma was was her uncle angry with her professor about the boggart but still willing to help? That didn't make any sense at all. Then again, there was strength in numbers. What in the world could her professor possibly fear, though? He lived in Azkaban for twelve years! Azkaban! And he certainly wasn't afraid of death if he'd fought in the last war. What was left?

Professor Black was surprised by Uncle Terry's declaration. Gemma knew her uncle was unpredictable. "Well," Professor Black started hesitantly. Gemma knew he would be off-balance for a while longer. No one really acclimated to her uncle's moods quickly. Her professor then snapped, "Fine! I'll deal with you later! Just don't talk to the damn boggart. We don't need another Bella running around, trying to take over the world, do we?"

Glaring, Uncle Terry replied stonily, "No, we don't. Don't worry. I'll stay away from it." Turning to Gemma, he tried to look less angry and said, "Gemma, your mum'll sort all this out, all right?" With one last parting glare at Professor Black, Uncle Terry stormed off.

Scowling at Gemma's uncle, Professor Black turned back to look at Gemma now clinging to his arm. The angry expression melted off of his face, and he sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. I shouldn't've…" he began to apologize, running his hand through his hair. Probably to avoid confrontation, he changed topics and asked, "Is 'Sia really—I mean, so, Artemesia's your mum, huh?" He looked really nervous for some reason.

Gemma was hesitant to tell him the truth, but her professor seemed really concerned. "Yeah, she's my mum," Gemma replied slowly. Of course, if he was asking, then did that mean that her mum hadn't told him? Weren't they going out? Then again, he was the latest in a long list of her mum's boyfriends, and her mum typically didn't tell them for a couple weeks. That last guy her mum'd gone out with (survived six months, Thanksgiving with family, and meeting the parents, but quailed at Christmas and Uncle Terry's repeatedly eccentric behavior) hadn't found out for a month. "Why?"

Gemma was surprised to realize she had unbalanced her professor. He looked like he had just been caught dueling Snape in the halls by Professor McGonagall. He wasn't supposed to do that. Sheepish, that was the word. Maybe he was embarrassed, but her professor didn't seem the type to be easily embarrassed. On the other hand, there he was, looking a combination of sheepish and embarrassed. He might have been blushing, too, which was completely ridiculous to even think. Professor Black did not behave like a normal person. He was practically a legend or a hero. He had survived twelve years in Azkaban and two on the run, and he was completely sane. Well, he was as sane as he had been when he went in. Gemma then remembered to add, "Um, Mum doesn't like it when people call her Sia. She yells at Uncle Terry whenever he slips."

"So she's told me," Professor Black replied distractedly. Gemma was glad he wasn't blushing anymore. That had been decidedly weird. There was no good reason for him to be that sensitive about these sorts of things. He was dating her mother, for God's sake! Desperate to change the subject, Professor Black said, "So, your mother must yell at your uncle frequently. She was never really the type to put up with that kind of bullshit. I mean—Oh, fuck!" He suddenly winced and said, "You didn't hear me say any of that, all right?"

Gemma stared at her professor. She was thirteen, for God's sake, not three! Of course she'd heard that sort of language before. Gemma informed her professor, "Don't worry. It's nothing I haven't heard before. Mum's been permanently irritated at Uncle Terry for as long as I can remember. You see, the first time Mum met Uncle Terry was at Christmas when I was four. When she walked in the room and saw Uncle Terry, she shouted, 'Holy fuck!' so I apparently kept walking around for the entirety of Christmastide saying it. Aunt Demeter may have barely been able to contain herself, but Aunt Hestia had to up her anger-management medication. Well, _I _thought it was funny, but Mum dragged Uncle Terry off and yelled at him for, like, an hour. I think she knew him from school and was irritated that he had never mentioned that he'd married Aunt Vesta. Or something. Mum was prone to moods then."

Apprehensive, Professor Black was looking at her. Gemma didn't blame him, but he shouldn't have asked if he didn't want to know. "That… sounds like your mother," he said carefully. Gemma wondered if her mother had thrown things at him yet, like she did whenever Uncle Terry did something wrong. Gemma almost missed her professor say, "You know, your uncle reminds me of my brother, sometimes…"

Gemma looked up at him. "You have a brother?" she asked, surprised. Well, that was new. She learned something every day. "Is he older or younger than you?"

Professor Black looked slightly surprised as well. Gemma guessed that people generally didn't ask about his personal life. "Reg—Reg was a year and a half younger than me," Professor Black admitted. Gemma wondered why he didn't elaborate. Whenever someone asked her about Peter, she'd go on for hours. "He had some serious problems, but he was a good kid."

Then Gemma realized: Professor Black's brother was dead. "Oh. I'm sorry," she murmured and mentally slapped herself for mentioning anything at all.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, kid," Professor Black replied with a smile. "My idiot little brother wouldn't have wanted anyone to feel responsible for his death, save the one who… They never closed the file, you know. Went to trial, but they… Well, let's just say everyone was so paranoid back then that they tried the Auror who was first on the scene."

"That's stupid. Why would he report the crime if he did it?" Gemma decided. There was no logical way that the Auror could have done it. Unless there was a great big set-up, there was no reason to blame the Auror. Gemma was intrigued, though: "So, if that guy didn't do it, who do you think did do it?"

"Who else? Dear old cousin Bella," her professor replied. He looked rather uncomfortable with the subject matter, but he seemed willing to continue the conversation. Gemma wondered why he would keep talking about it if he didn't want to. Apparently she looked rather confused, because Professor Black clarified, "Bellatrix Lestrange. After I ran away, she had a vendetta against me and, to a point, Reg." He stopped in the middle of the hallway, and Gemma wondered why. Then, she remembered why she had started talking to him in the first place, so most of what he had said was a distraction, which was why he kept talking even though he didn't want to. They had arrived at her mother's office. After flashing a smile at Gemma, her professor knocked on the door. "Artemesia?"

Gemma heard rummaging (her mother's office was a complete rat's nest) before the door opened. Her mum looked a little flustered. "What's going on, Sirius?" she asked.

Professor Black paused before he explained, "Your daughter needs to talk to you about her boggart, and I need to go save your ersatz brother-in-law from his worst fear, so I'll leave you to it." Detaching Gemma from his shirt, Professor Black left to go help Uncle Terry.

"Mom, why are all your boyfriends weird?" Gemma asked, completely ignoring how her mother was staring disorientedly in the direction in which Professor Black had left. "I mean, assuming he is your boyfriend. The entire school thinks so."

That broke her mother from her trance and caused her to look down at Gemma. "They do?" she asked, a little horrified, before gently continuing, "What was he talking about?"

They had entered her mother's office. There was less debris than usual.

Gemma bit her lip and explained, "I saw Dad, dead. Professor Black got really freaked out, and then he got in an argument with Uncle Terry. Then I told him about that one Christmas when you shouted, 'Holy fuck!' and how you tend to throw stuff at Uncle Terry, or maybe I just thought that, but then he mentioned his brother, and I have the feeling he's really depressed."

Her mother stared at her in silence before kneeling down and hugging her. What was her mother trying to do, let Gemma have a complete and total breakdown? It just wasn't fair! Why should she be expected to act like absolutely nothing was wrong when everything was! At that point, Gemma started sobbing, because it was too difficult not to. She wasn't embarassed crying in front of her mother, but she had been when she was with her professor. That, and while Professor Black was good at distraction, he hadn't really helped. "Oh, Gemma. I should have told you," her mother murmured. "I should have told you…"

"Mum… What are you talking about? Isn't that guy in those photos under your bed Dad?" Gemma asked, curious. She was feeling a little better. Was her mother actually going to answer her questions for once?

Her mother looked sad all of a sudden as she asked, "You found them?" Gemma nodded. "I should have figured," she murmured. "I never could hide anything from him, even if he can be so stupid sometimes…" Her mum was dodging questions again, as usual. Gemma wish her mother would answer the question. "The boy in those photos—Gemma, there's a reason I hid them under the bed. He may have been one of my close friends in school, but, well, he could be such a complete pain in the ass."

Gemma waited for her mother to continue, but she seemed lost in her memories. "Mum?" Gemma prompted after a minute or so. "Mum, you've spaced out."

Her mother smiled a bit and continued haltingly, "Gemma, he—we… I ran into him about a year after we graduated. What happened is irrelevant, but the moral of the story is that you should never date the boy everyone warned you about."

Gemma knew there was only one explanation as to why her mother hadn't answered the question. The man in the photographs wasn't her dad, and her mum was trying to let her down gently. "Mum, please just tell me," Gemma said.

Her mother looked at her and then looked down at the floor, seeming slightly guilty. She paused for a moment to work up the courage to admit, "Gemma, it's serious." A blank look on her face, Gemma didn't understand, so her mother, with something resembling an ever-suffering expression, repeated, "It's Sirius in the photographs."

Well, now Gemma felt stupid. She was not trying to ignore what her mother had just told her, because what she had said was completely insane. It would imply that… Well, it implied nothing, to be honest. "Then, why didn't you tell him about me?" Gemma demanded. "He had no clue we were related until Uncle Terry told him. If you two were so close then why didn't you tell him you had kids?"

"Gemma…" her mother started, seeming to plead for understanding.

"So, what happened, then?" Gemma continued accusingly, ignoring her mother's interjection. "Did you dump him, too? That why you didn't say anything?"

Before Gemma could continue, her mother explained calmly, "Gemma, you have to remember he spent twelve years in prison, in solitary confinement. He doesn't completely remember how to deal with people. It doesn't help that he was never really good with real emotions in the first place, even if he used to be decent at hiding his feelings. He's still trying to get used to the fact the world moved on without him. I was going to tell him, Gemma. I was just waiting to make sure he wouldn't react badly."

Gemma started at her mother in disbelief. Maybe another adult would have understood what her mother was trying to explain, but Gemma honestly couldn't believe what her mother was saying. "Then what happened?" Gemma asked.

Her mother sighed and said, "Gemma, it's complicated. We had a rocky relationship." Gemma considered asking what her mother was talking about, but the look on her mim's face gave her pause. What could Professor Black have done? If he had hurt Gemma's mum, Gemma would never forgive him. Finally, her mother smiled and said, "Go on, Gemma. Get to your next class. I'll tell you when you're older, all right?"

Gemma scowled but agreed, "Fine, just tell me before you go and marry him, all right? Otherwise, I'm liable to say all sorts of inane things just to thoroughly embarrass you. You should probably make sure Uncle Terry doesn't scare him off, if you really like him."

Her mother laughed lightly and said, "Trust me, Gemma, Terry couldn't scare Sirius off even if he tried." Gemma expressed her disbelief before declaring that she had to return to class. Her mother shook her head and smiled, glad Gemma was feeling better. As Gemma sped out the door, she swore she heard her mother murmur, "That girl's worse than her father sometimes."

That cinched it: adults were incurably weird. End of story.

Gemma looked down at her watch and realized she was late for Divination. Oh, well. (When she arrived to class, her excuse was, "I'm sorry, Professor Trelawney, but the stars were malaligned today and prevented me from arriving on time." Trelawney believed her, which caused her to wonder why she was taking the class in the first place.)

* * *

Sirius was in a foul mood when he returned to the door to the Defense classroom to find White mysteriously absent. He felt slightly better when he opened the door and found White backing away from the boggart. Sirius's mood took a nosedive when he realized who the boggart was impersonating. White had turned to see him enter the room and was horrified to see the boggart had turned into someone else. Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to know if Bellatrix had previously made another appearance. "Holy hell," White murmured quietly.

Sirius considered pointing out that "holy hell" was an oxymoron, if only to distract himself from the real problem. He was good at distraction. He was also very good at denial. Distraction and denial were his friends. "White, what did I tell you?" Sirius demanded. He couldn't pay attention to the boggart; he shouldn't pay attention to the boggart.

"I remember. Stay outside. Don't go in. Wait till you got back," White stammered, frozen in his tracks. Quickly, he pleaded, "Please don't listen to him! Please, Sirius, I beg of you!"

Sirius narrowed his eyes and demanded, "Why should I, White?"

"It's a valid question, isn't it, _Terry_?" the boggart mentioned icily. Staring straight at White, the boggart laughed bitterly and accused, "Don't want him to know who killed me, once and for all? Then again, you do need him on your side, so I suppose what you've done wouldn't be very conducive to keeping him on your side. Let's not even get started on the real kicker. You and I both know the truth, even if he doesn't."

Sirius shut the door behind him. No one else needed to bear witness to this. Turning to the boggart, Sirius demanded frostily, "What the hell does he mean, White?"

The younger man ignoring him and shouted at the boggart, "You can't be here! You're dead! You're fucking dead! I WATCHED YOU DIE!" His hands were shaking, and he started to back away. White looked absolutely horrified.

The boggart laughed and retorted lightly, "Because you killed me." Addressing Sirius, the boggart continued, "You know, he almost killed his own brother? Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, as they say." The smirk on his face was a bit too much to bear. It was just wrong. He would never have said anything like that or behaved like that. Sirius kept trying to remind himself that it was a boggart. Just a boggart. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I never meant to hurt him," White said in a small voice. He had stopped backing up, and his breathing was erratic. The look on his face was all Sirius needed to realize that White was telling the truth. "I never meant to hurt you," he repeated, momentarily oblivious to his surroundings. Turning to look at Sirius, White tried to explain, "There was nothing I could do; you have to believe me…"

Stonily, Sirius ignored White and demanded of the boggart, "So you want me to believe that he killed you? How did he do it? I honestly don't think White has it in him to murder."

The boggart laughed and said, "It's still murder if he just stands there and lets it happen, isn't it?" Shooting White a disgusted look and then staring at Sirius in disbelief, the boggart continued, "And color me surprised you haven't asked him about the truth. What happened that made you so hesitant? But curiosity did kill the cat, after all, and it's plain as day Azkaban killed you."

"What are you going on about?" Sirius demanded, ignoring White, who was begging him on his hands and knees not to listen to or question the boggart.

"That pathetic piece of shit knew you were innocent the whole time. He knew Pettigrew was a Death Eater, too, and he did nothing about it. Ironic, isn't it?" the boggart mused. Sirius turned to look at White, who was staring blankly at the floor with a broken look on his face, and felt disgusted. "And you know what's the best part, Sirius? It's not that he could have saved my life and didn't. You see, if he'd just said something, the Order would have known of Pettigrew's betrayal, so Potter wouldn't have died. That's all his fault."

White didn't even try to defend himself. After that, Sirius hadn't expected him to, but he understood what was going on. White felt so guilty about those things he didn't want anyone to know, and he was damned afraid anyone would find out. There was probably a reason White hadn't said anything. Hesitantly, Sirius said as calmly as he could, "White, tell me something. Could you have changed any of that? If you couldn't, then ignore him. Whatever you say, I'll listen."

White looked up at Sirius with a shocked expression. He tried to speak but nothing came out. He looked down at the ground and quietly admitted, "I could have prevented his death." There was a moment of silence as Sirius watched him, trying not to pay attention to the smug expression on the boggart's face. White spoke again, pained, "I could have done some things differently, and he wouldn't have died. But… you deserve the truth." More resolutely, he continued, "It is my fault your brother is dead, even if Bellatrix was the one who slit his throat."

Sirius stared at White impassively, and the boggart disguised as his brother started laughing, which made Sirius wonder if he had been that disturbing to the Aurors when they had arrested him. He did not want to know what was so funny. There was no reason to be that amused by the confession. "Don't you find that _hilarious_, Sirius?" the monster wearing his brother's face asked. "It's not even the best part! Do you want to know exactly what he's done, Sirius?" Sirius glared at the boggart. White had serious problems, but this was getting out of hand.

Considering the look a challenge, the boggart said, "You do? Well, guess what? I—" The boggart stopped when Sirius walked between White and the boggart. He couldn't listen anymore. Whatever his fear was had to be better than this. Unfortunately, the boggart changed only a little, but it looked more like the brother he remembered as it smiled sadly and murmured, "What was I saying? I'm still dead. Nothing's going to change that..."

It looked off to the side at White before staring at Sirius once more and said, "It isn't his fault, you know. We both know that, Sirius. It's not his fault I'm dead.

"It's yours."

Sirius was vaguely aware of knocking something over as he backed up. White was glaring at the apparition, but Sirius, quite frankly, didn't give a damn. "Oh, and I was supposed to deliver a message," the boggart seemed to remember. Looking reluctant, the boggart continued, "Ms. Evans didn't want me to say anything—you remember how nice she was—but Potter insisted. They don't forgive you, for any of it."

"Shut up," White growled as he stepped forward.

"Why should I? You're a murderer," the boggart said, slightly surprised that White would even make the suggestion. "You just admitted it yourself," he continued calmly and asked with the same infuriating sense of logic, "How are you any different than the people that killed me? It doesn't help you're under the mistaken impression that my death was your fault, somehow. Sirius could have stopped me from leaving that day. If we're going to be honest with ourselves, we could even trace it back to everyone always ignoring me at school. Whose fault is that?"

Sirius was not going to listen to the boggart. This was just what he was afraid was true. This wasn't the truth, nor at all.

Trying to reason away everything that was said, Sirius almost missed what White said: "If the real Regulus Black had been alone—which he _wasn't_—it would have been his own fault, not Sirius's. And, there was no fucking way that Black could have stopped his brother from doing what he did. He was a dead man walking far before he went to talk to Sirius." White bit back some bitter laughter before continuing, "You know what? This is so pathetic. Two grown men laid low by a bloody boogey-man. It's fucking _riddiculus_."

Sirius was less surprised by the fact that it had taken that long for either of them to cast the bloody spell than the fact that the boggart turned into a rather petulant-looking kitten, which White picked up and deposited in the storage closet. The two of them said nothing for some time. Then, White said, "Thank God for small homonyms."

"You're an idiot," Sirius replied automatically. There was another gap filled with silence before Sirius asked, "Why are you afraid of my brother accusing you of all that shit?" He wanted to stay silent and forget what had happened, but Sirius figured that despite everything, he had a right to know.

White was still standing in front of the door to the storage closet, staring at the floor. After a moment, he sighed and turned to face Sirius. "He knew me, and it's less a fear of getting corned in a room with a dead man than having all your sins or mistakes revealed to someone by a person who you trusted implicitly to keep your confidences," White explained. "There's too much at stake, Sirius, for anyone else to know the truth, until Voldemort is dead once and for all."

Sirius stared at White and realized, "You know about the horcruxes."

White did not appear to be surprised, but he laughed nervously and declared, "I know _about_ the Horcruxes? Fuck, Black, that's not it." Sirius suddenly felt kind of stupid for bringing up the Dark artifacts until White continued hysterically, "I know _where_ they fucking _are_!"

"And people think I'm paranoid," Sirius muttered.

"Well, you are paranoid, but this is completely different," White agreed, beginning to defend himself before Sirius had a chance to declare that White was acting a bit excessively. Continuing, he explained, "Look, I'll be honest with you. I know I don't deserve your trust, especially after what just happened, but you have to believe me about this. If Voldemort figures out who I really am, he would know or at least suspect I knew about the Horcruxes, and if he even suspected I might know, he would try to hide them again and render my work meaningless. Well, I know he can't move a couple, but that's another can of worms."

Only barely recovered from the boggart, Sirius essayed, "You actually want to stop lying, but you can't because then Voldemort will win. However, if you go crazy because of the guilt or stress, we're fucked anyway." With a soft sign, Sirius murmured, "That's one hell of a catch-22."

"I never said I was having issues because of my decision, Black!" White suddenly snapped before looking off to the side, grimacing. A little calmer, he continued, "But you are right that I want this to stop. Fuck." Looking back at Sirius, he adopted a wry expression and mentioned, "You know, if my superiors had let me come back here before Voldemort had risen from the dead, then there wouldn't be a problem, because I'd have destroyed all the Horcruxes a long time ago. But, does anyone listen to me? No. Never. Not about that shit. Paperwork, yeah, sure, fine. But Horcruxes? God forbid."

Sirius tried to suppress a smile. He knew the reaction was inappropriate, but he didn't know how to stop. Feeling guilty, he hastily apologized, "Look, White, you really need to straighten yourself out. I mean, you're really high-strung." Coming to a conclusion, Sirius continued, "You know, you need help, with all of this stuff. When you go after the Horcuxes, count me in."

White stared at him as if scandalized. "What?" he said, unable to believe the words. "You—you want to help me steal them?" He blinked. "Are you insane? You know how dangerous it's going to be?" White demanded.

"Somewhere between suicidal and hopeless," Sirius replied. He wondered why this exchange unnerved White. "I know. I'm volunteering." If White refused the help, Sirius was going to ignore the protests. He was going to help, regardless. Nothing the other man had done was particularly reassuring of his capabilities. Most of White's actions landed him in the hospital, and someone needed to look out for him. So, it fell to Sirius to be his keeper.

White stared at Sirius with an indecipherable look, and Sirius wondered how much White was keeping from him. After a sigh, White muttered, "Who am I to refuse help?" Addressing Sirius directly, White continued with a little resignation but less reluctance than Sirius expected, "Fine. Welcome to my crusade."

Sirius couldn't help it. Really, he couldn't. It was too dramatic, and White really was too uptight (and Sirius needed to distract himself). Besides, making some sort of joke to diffuse the situation was necessary. Therefore, Sirius asked nonchalantly, "So, do we get secret decoder rings?"

* * *

_**Notes:** Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed in the past month! Feedback of all kinds is always appreciated._

_**Updating Schedule: **For those who are interested, chapter 44 is in the process of being written, and it again looks like there are many chapters to go, so no once a week posts until at least the end of the summer. Twice a week posts will be instituted once I am past chapter 49, 50, or 51 (i.e. a one-year buffer) or from the end of the school year to the end of summer, probably with a post early or later than usual in either late June or late July.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Diana and Vesta have a conversation, and Artemesia may or may not finally slap some sense into Sirius._


	27. Losing Control

Diana White wondered why she bothered trying to be sane. No one else in her family tried. Demeter psychoanalyzed everyone, which Diana found to be a sign of insanity even if it was her psychiatrist sister's job. Hestia actually needed anger management therapy, and to this day, Diana still did not understand why she had become a defense attorney. Athene, on the other hand, was relatively normal, but she lived in California, so Diana rarely saw her. Hermes was an "individual," as Diana's mother said, and the fact that his Australian accent was too strong, not to mention his habit of speaking solely in slang, did not help matters, either. That, and he tried to get her to learn how to surf every time they saw each other. (Boggled the mind!) Which left her final sister and their other nutty cousin. Vesta and Artemesia were in all likelihood the absolute worst of the seven.

Diana could forgive their (in her opinion) incredibly bad luck with men. Really, who married a patient? Hell, who lived with a patient for two years before admitting that there were any feelings between them? Don't even get Diana started on the names of the kids. To that day, she still wondered what had possessed her sister to name her daughter after a Celtic war goddess. She could have chosen a less esoteric name, like Rhiannon or Morgan. Diana would have even found Brynhild a bit more acceptable. Besides, with twins, it would have made so much more sense to name them Artemis and Apollo. (Diana wasn't biased.) Of course, Diana did have to admit Terry seemed sane most of the time, which was probably why Leo was not named Cuchuhainn or something unfortunate like Mordred. Diana preferred the Greco-Roman names, but she wasn't against a Quetzalcoatl or an Isis every so often.

Okay, so Artemesia deserved a break. Her idiot boyfriend had gone off and got himself thrown in prison for life. It had been perfectly reasonable for the first couple of years for Artemesia to be completely in denial about his guilt, about which she had been correct. Then, there was the whole dating spree of hers that ended horribly. Diana thanked her lucky stars that she had not been living with Artemesia by that point. Of course, Artemesia also managed to ruin every single relationship she had been in since, admittedly with some help from Diana and Terry. To be honest, Diana thought some of them had not been right for Artemesia, but Terry just disliked all of them on principle.

Diana wondered why. Not. Sometimes she didn't understand why her brother-in-law started acting like the brother that Artemesia never had, but she remembered when Artemesia first met him. Terry had the unfortunate habit of becoming attached to people without rhyme or reason. He wasn't nearly as crazy as the rest of them. Diana supposed it was because he wasn't a pureblood and therefore hadn't suffered the effects of inbreeding. Of course, she and her sisters were half-bloods, but the White family was very old and was littered with lunatics over the ages. In any case, Artemesia was just unlucky, even if Diana thought Artemesia was pretty damn crazy for wanting to marry Black at any point in time.

"Diana, please stop doubting the family's sanity," Vesta requested, drinking some coffee as she read the newspaper at the kitchen table. Diana was about to protest, but her older sister cut her off without even looking up from the paper. "I can just tell when you're thinking about it, Diana. You get that look on your face," Vesta explained

Diana rolled her eyes and continued to butter her toast, which she had managed not to let burn during her mental tangent. "I do not," Diana defended herself before continuing, "and I was just thinking about how Artemesia has the worst luck with men. I mean, John lasted six months, and Matthew lasted about a year, but at this rate, she's never going to snag a guy."

Smiling, Vesta shook her head. "No, Diana, I think she will," she replied a little enigmatically, although Diana supposed Vesta was referring to Black. He reminded her of someone, but she just couldn't figure out who the man was. Diana found that absolutely infuriating, so she was immediately predisposed to dislike Black. Plus, he made Artemesia's life miserable for years, so he deserved it. With a laugh, Vesta continued, "Besides, one of the reasons all those guys left was that Terry has always managed to scare them off." Turning more serious, she admitted, "Artemesia also may have sabotaged her relationships well enough if she admitted she had been with Sirius."

"Guys shouldn't be that shallow," Diana declared as she sat down at the kitchen table with her sister. Shaking her head, she took a sip of her coffee, which was now tepid, and grimaced. Diana demanded, "What, do you think they took her to be damaged goods?"

Vesta shrugged before thinking of something ridiculous. Diana stared at her to make her to continue. Vesta generally responded well to the tactic. Diana waited for a moment before Vesta said, "Well, I suppose that's probably what happened, but Artemesia would have only said Sirius's name during sex once for any of her boyfriends to break up with her."

Diana stared at her sister with a blank expression before she said, "Vesta, please keep that to yourself next time. I did not need that mental image." She shot her sister a glare and cut her off prematurely, "Don't even say it!"

Grinning, Vesta went back to reading her newspaper, leaving Diana to eat her buttered toast in peace. They continued to sit in silence, but Diana went back to thinking. As thinking was obviously a dangerous pastime for her, Diana restarted conversation. "How's Terry been doing?" she asked, hoping he hadn't landed himself in any trouble recently. At the home office, they all considered Terry to be one of the most scatterbrained people to ever grace the halls of their fine institution, but he did do the paperwork of anyone who asked, so it all balanced out. Terry was seen as a doormat as a result.

"He's well," Vesta replied, refraining from looking up from her paper. Diana could tell she was lying. It figured. There had been a reason the home office had flat-out refused to let Terry return to the UK for fifteen years. The man had always been so disaster-prone. Diana knew he also spoke out against whatever he disagreed with. That said, he just talked a lot, but Diana didn't think it was strange for him to be so talkative. After all, if she had been mute for a year, she'd never shut up, either. Neither Vesta nor Terry ever talked about what had happened to him. Diana had asked but she'd never gotten an answer out of either of them. Well, Terry made a bad joke about it once, and Diana had never asked again.

"Are you sure?" Diana asked. If the operation was going south, she wasn't just going to stand there and wait for her brother-in-law's body to turn up in a ditch somewhere.

"He can handle himself, Diana. Don't worry so much," Vesta replied distractedly. Diana was rather amazed by the amount of faith Vesta had in Terry sometimes. To be honest, Diana could barely trust him to be able to stay undercover for more than a week. If he ever had to go by an alias for more than a month, Diana was sure the universe would explode. She trusted Terry, and he was a great guy, but she really did wonder how he managed to stay—essentially—a secret agent. Best case scenario, the home office treated him like a cross between Clark Kent and a member of the witness protection program!

"Are you sure, Vesta? I mean, are you really sure?" Diana asked, hoping she could put this as delicately as possible. "He's never been out on any dangerous assignment like this before," she said and before her sister could get a word in edgewise continued, "I know he did something once that really fucked him up, Vesta, but a record like that isn't encouraging."

Vesta looked very serious as she folded up her newspaper and placed it on the table. After a moment, she said patiently, "Diana, I know you don't think he's capable of completing this mission because of the way he behaves and gets treated at work, but there's a reason for how he's treated. They never let him go on missions not because they think he's incompetent but because they felt they could not allow him to do anything that would jeopardize the mission he is on. He wanted to finish it fourteen years ago, Diana, and he's sure could have done it."

After a moment's pause, Vesta continued, "Diana, he almost died. His heart stopped, and he'd lost too much blood, and I almost lost him. Obviously Thomas and I saved his life, but Terry was dead for a minute and a half. That's why your superiors never let him go on another mission. They decided he was too cavalier with his life, so they gave him the cover of an ambassadorial aide and made him a glorified errand boy."

Diana asked, "Really? But…" She trailed off. Diana had looked at her brother-in-law's file. There was never any reference to the incident as quite as serious as Vesta described. Granted, the file had mentioned he had been grievously injured on his first mission, but the rest of the information was absent. If there was more to it, then those papers were classified even to her clearance level. Diana had known that he had defected from the Death Eaters, but she had always supposed that he was in the lower echelons of the organization. It had never really crossed her mind that he could have been in deep. Terry didn't seem the type that would have believed in the Death Eater's doctrine. Collecting her thoughts, Diana said, "Vesta, if that's the truth, then how… Terry can have the patience of a saint, sure, but if he's been treated like this for the past decade, how has he not just snapped?"

Vesta opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it as she looked off to the side. After a moment, she turned to face her sister and said, "Diana, what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. Well, you can mention it to Artemesia, but that's because she already knows." Sighing, Vesta explained, "After he got hurt, he wanted to come back and finish what he had started as soon as he'd recovered. Then, his family started to self-destruct, tear itself apart. He'd been living in America for a year or so by then, and he had almost conviced his superiors he could return. However, the war had ended, so he just slowly started to give up. He'd distract himself from the problem, and by the time he and Artemesia met at Christmas that one year, he'd given up.

"Now, though, he has the chance to fix things. If they had not let him come here, he'd've just disobeyed them. You know that he's not good at confrontation, but he would have found a way to ignore them," Vesta said. "In any case, the secrecy is wearing him down. To everyone back home, he doesn't feel like he's lying because they only know Terry White. Here, he knows he's lying to people he's known since he was a child. You know how much he cares about loyalty and honor."

"He's way too concerned with that outdated stuff," Diana mumbled.

"It's how he was raised," Vesta mentioned. She smiled and continued, "I think it's a good thing most of the time. Besides, he's not as old fashioned as you think, Diana. He played guitar for the Hobgoblins once upon a time."

"Yeah, right, Vesta, and monkeys will fly out of my ass," Diana challenged.

Vesta had the strangest look on her face. Diana knew she didn't want to know, but Vesta shared her thoughts like she usually did. "Aunt Aphrodite has a flying monkey colony, Diana, so be careful what you wish for. That could definitely be arranged," Vesta reminded her. "Also, I'm sure my brother-in-law knows a spell that could do exactly what you mentioned."

Diana winced. "You mean Terry's mom didn't stop after him? What was wrong with that woman?" she demanded. "God, if she wasn't crazy to begin with, then she must have gone mad. I don't even want to consider what Terry's brother must be like."

Vesta looked like Diana had made a very amusing joke, and Diana started to wonder what she'd said that was so funny. "Actually, his brother is the older son. I'm sure Terry's mentioned him before," Vesta said. Diana wondered why Vesta was allowing Diana to lead her so far off topic. There was something strange going on. Was Terry's mission really _that_ important? It was certainly starting to sound like it.

Diana decided to backtrack a bit, but she felt perfectly justified in doing so. "Which guitarist was Terry? 'Cause I know he wasn't using his real name," she said. This was research. It was completely justified. She wasn't secretly hoping that he was one of the good guitarists. (She didn't have a shrine in her closet.)

"Now you believe me?" Vesta asked wryly. "I didn't think it was that unbelievable he had been a bit of a rebel back when I met him." Pausing to think about it, she said, "Well, if I remember correctly, he played on the first album, before the band became famous. He had some strange hobbies when we were younger."

"You're saying that Terry, despite his Clark Kent tendencies, is the original guitarist?" Diana demanded. She rolled her eyes. "Man, I should have saved the monkey line for this revelation. What's next? The only way to kill Voldemort is cutting his head off with a sword? People are living in the walls of Hogwarts? Aunt Hera's neighbors, the Archers, are actually the not-quite-dead-yet-but-in-reality-obliviated Prewett brothers?" Diana realized she didn't want to know and said, "For the love of God, Vesta, please don't answer that."

Unfortunately, Vesta then mused, "You know, I've always wondered about the Archers…"

* * *

Sirius was completely aware that he was in denial. He knew that he was trying to avoid some problems he really did need to sort out. Sirius did not particularly want to think about White and all that jazz at that moment. It had only been a couple of weeks since the boggart incident, but he refused to speak to the crazy American for a while longer. Sirius had the feeling it would be best if he gave White some space. Aside from the fact that it would not be smart for the younger man to be meeting with Sirius frequently, White had been unable to recover from what happened with the boggart. The rest of their conversation had still been strained. After the joke about the decoder ring, White had become completely withdrawn a couple of minutes later. Honestly, Sirius didn't blame him.

He wasn't completely sure White had blanked out because of his presence in the room. It was just so strange that White had seen Sirius's brother saying all those things instead of the younger man's own brother. Then again, White had seen his brother before Sirius had walked in. White's explanation was a little off, though. Sirius could remember Regulus's group of friends, and White had not been one of them. If Regulus had died so that Voldemort might be defeated, then why would another Death Eater trust him with his life? White did not seem the type to easily trust people, and Regulus had possessed the singular ability to be incredibly abrasive. Reg had also been an intensely private person. Sirius just wished his little brother had been more open about some things back then…

If he had only tried to stop Reggie from reporting back to Voldemort, then maybe his little brother wouldn't have died—been murdered. It seemed so—Sirius halted his train of thought. The way Regulus died did not match up with what Sirius knew had happened. Regulus had gone and stolen one of Voldemort's _horcruxes_, for God's sake! (Sirius knew that Reg must have gone through with it. If he had prepared enough to hide those books in the two libraries, then he must have committed the theft.) The kid had already bought himself a death sentence. So why wouldn't he have gone through with the order? If Regulus had killed or attempted to kill Sirius, then Voldemort might have trusted him a while longer, and more of the horcruxes could have been destroyed. Granted, that situation required Sirius's death, but his life was nothing in comparison to the good his brother might have done.

It was necessary, therefore, that Sirius help White complete his mission, no matter how utterly insane it was guaranteed to become. He'd go to hell and back to end this mess. For his brother, for James, for Lily, for Marlene and Dorcas and Fabian and Gideon and everyone else who shouldn't have died in that damned war. He would do his part to end the war so Harry wouldn't have to know what war was like, so Harry's entire generation didn't have to know. Of course, another strong motivation for Sirius was the wish that he'd never have to bury another friend (or colleague or family or anyone he considered family) as a result of the violence.

Regulus's death had marked the beginning of the bloodiest part of the war. The upper echelons of the Death Eaters had latched on to the idea that the Ministry Inquest had drudged up, that (an Auror, an Order member) he, Sirius, had murdered his brother and therefore the Ministry and the Order held nothing sacred. The lie properly incensed the lower-level Death Eaters, and the members of the Inner Circle laughed at the irony and relished the opportunity to become even more brutal. After Reg, the Prewetts were killed in action in the spring. Dorcas's body was found midsummer. That was around the time that James and Lily had started talking about the Fidelius. They never should have thought to suggest Sirius as their Secret-Keeper. He had the feeling that they had suggested it so that he wouldn't do anything rash. To be honest, he had never really trusted himself to accept. Life and death were not things he wished to have power over.

Power corrupted; absolute power corrupted absolutely, and Sirius had been (and still was) well aware he was predisposed to succumbing to that sort of power. He supposed it didn't help that he was so well versed in the Dark Arts. The first and only time he had cast the Unforgivables, he had known without a shadow of a doubt he could never use them in battle. The Department of Law Enforcement-mandated combat test had made him understand Bellatrix more, and that had scared him more than anyone knew. Moody had thought Sirius's reaction an amazing show of restraint on his part, but Sirius still wondered if Moody had meant he applauded Sirius's convictions or if he had meant that it was incredible that Sirius hadn't completely lost it. Sirius tended to suspect the former nowadays. Moody was treating him with what passed for respect again. Of course, Moody might also have heard how Sirius had spent the next hour or so after the aforementioned combat test paying homage to the porcelain gods. Sirius hadn't expected his former teacher to forgive and forget so easily (the man _was_ paranoid), but he guessed Moody had, because Sirius knew of at least thirty-two ways he could have escaped from Azkaban but chose the only one that didn't involve dark magic.

There were ways could have escaped in much better shape than starved and half-dead from exhaustion and cold. Sirius just couldn't have risked it. That rush he got from the magic was just too… It called and beckoned, and he knew he couldn't give in, because if he did, then he'd never stop, and he would become what he feared and hated. Those three spells and certain others he knew he couldn't use. One thing would lead to another, and the next thing he knew, he'd be kneeling at Voldemort's feet with Bellatrix. Sirius could never cross that line. Even if it meant he would die, he would not cast those spells. His reasoning might have seemed stupid, but he was afraid of what it would do to him and what he might do to others.

Sometimes he still wondered what it would have felt like if he had tried to kill Bellatrix that day, at Regulus's funeral. Sirius had behaved himself for the service. Hell, he had even stood in the back of the church to avoid confrontation with anyone. Of course, how was he supposed to know that his father knew he was there? Sirius still wished he hadn't gone, but he couldn't bring himself to regret going. He'd been one of the pallbearers simply because Sirius just couldn't say no when his father had asked. He didn't want to be one, but then again his father probably didn't want to, either. Neither wanted to bury him. Sirius would have given anything as he walked out for it to have been a terrible mistake or a joke, a sick, sick joke, or even—even to just know Regulus hadn't died for nothing…

Sirius would have gladly died instead. It would have solved a lot of problems. James and Lily would have made sure Dumbledore was the Secret-Keeper, and they wouldn't have died. Then, the Prewetts wouldn't have been killed going after Bellatrix, who had set the trap for her cousin. Sirius hadn't followed because she had unwittingly broken his arm with a Blasting Hex.

After… after the coffin had been lowered into the grave, Bellatrix had wasted no time in expressing her condolences, such as they were. Sirius had wanted so badly to do something, to punch her in the face, to arrest her (she had the right to remain silent, and he had wished she had expressed that right. He had never wished so much to actually take her life. She had murdered his little brother, and she was gloating about it in front of his grave. Sirius was an officer of the law, and she had all but admitted her crimes, but he knew that if he even suggested it to anyone that Scrimgeour or one of his cronies would have just thrown it back in his face. They thought he was guilty anyway.

Sirius supposed that he shouldn't have taken his anger out on his father, but there was no one else there he could safely yell at. Between Death Eaters and those in mourning, the answer had been obvious. His mother was broken. Sirius had seen it in her eyes. He still wondered if she had seen the same in his. She had always been perceptive like that. His father, though, he seemed as imperturbable as ever. So it had only been expected that when the two had started arguing that it escalated into a full-on shouting match where they blamed each other for what happened. Sirius didn't clearly remember what he had said, if the conversation had made any sense, or even if they really had been blaming each other. All he knew was that when he said that his mother and father shouldn't have let Reggie join those murdering bastards even if the two of them did agree with those disgusting views, his father had slapped him and ordered him to get out of his sight. Although he had always been the disobedient son, Sirius had turned and left. It was the last time he had seen his father, and Sirius still hoped that he hadn't had a hand in accelerating his father's death. (He had not had a fun week in Azkaban when he'd been informed his father had died of heart failure and the guards were quite vocal about hoping the ailment was genetic.)

He should have stopped Regulus from leaving that night. He shouldn't have been so abrasive and accusing. He shouldn't have refused to listen to what Reggie had been trying to tell him. He shouldn't have insinuated that Reg had been in the group that murdered the McKinnons. If he had only known what Reggie was getting himself into, he would have helped, and Sirius sure as hell wouldn't have let him go off alone to get himself killed. He didn't even know how he had managed to fuck everything up so badly. Sirius never made the right decision, and it sometimes seemed like he never would.

While he was thinking about regrets, he realized he had gone off and been evasive, yet again. It was honestly pathetic that he couldn't even be truthful with himself. He was in denial, and that meant he was about to make the wrong decision again, and he was going to regret it for the rest of his life, even if that span turned out to not be so long after all. Going out with a bang was something he supposed he was predestined to do, so he doubted he would gently fade into age and obscurity. He would exit the stage at the exact wrong time because he had always missed his cues anyway. For some reason,, he knew he had to try one last time. It almost seemed like he had a shot, that he could do the right thing, but Artemesia had a daughter, a child. Artemesia had other things to think about without the added stress of dealing with him, and he wasn't going to put a child in danger because he used to know her mother.

The girl was among the youngest of her class, so there were really only two explanations. Well, three, Sirius supposed. Whatever the case was, it would be better that he didn't involve Artemesia and (their?) her daughter. Neither of them had said a word on the matter, although Sirius didn't particularly blame Artemesia from not wanting to talk about it. One way or another, he was responsible, so he couldn't bring it up. For all he knew, the girl might just have seen old photographs and made assumptions, but it was ironic that the girl hadn't realized… To tell the truth, Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth. On one hand, it was probably best that the line of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black ended. On the other hand, there was still some part of him that didn't want all that history to fade into nothing.

He was still avoiding the problem, thinking about the small picture, instead of thinking about what it meant. He might have a child, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. (The situation with Harry was different; Sirius fulfilled the role of cool-yet-slightly-eccentric-but-can-you-blame-him godfather, not _father_, which implied all sorts of other things.) If it were true, that the girl (_her name's Gemma; you always liked that name, and Artemesia knows it_) was his daughter, then he had abandoned her, too. Besides, what would Artemesia think of him if he were to ask? He had no right! Especially if it were true, and he then had managed to be a worse parent than either of his own. He was rash and temperamental and completely unsuited to raising children, and there was no way Artemesia could ever forgive him. Why was she even giving him a chance? She deserved better than a broken man too blind to see his own faults. A man who had deserted her.

Why? Why hadn't she moved on with her life? Why hadn't she treated him with contempt and scorn? She had every right! Why couldn't she have hated him? It would have been so much easier if she had just hated him. Or, maybe it would have been best had she just been apathetic. She shouldn't have shown him any sympathy or mercy or anything. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve her, and he didn't deserve his life. He might have been alive, but there were so many dead because of him and his stupid decisions, and he couldn't let her be the next. He just couldn't.

He had to stop this—whatever their relationship was—before something happened. He would not put her in danger. The sooner he ended it, the better, because he was not going to be responsible for breaking her heart again. Once was enough. Twice was just cruel. Making his decision, Sirius stood up from his desk and walked to the door of his office. He would still had time to turn back, but he had to be resolute. Otherwise, he would stand in front of her office door for God-knows-how-long and end up walking away without saying a word. He composed himself and opened the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Sirius was standing outside her door, and, as predicted, he couldn't bring himself to knock. What had he expected? He was a coward after all. Cursing himself, he made to leave when the door opened. Frozen in place, Sirius watched mutely as Artemesia tilted her head to the side and asked, "Sirius, what's wrong?"

Of course, she had noticed his rather obvious state of distress, but he nevertheless had to deny it. Attempting a smile, Sirius said, "It's nothing. I—I… We can talk about it later." However, his subconscious had other plans, seeing as his body still wasn't cooperating.

He still hadn't moved by the time Artemesia spoke again. "I'm not so sure that I believe you," she replied, suspicious. They hadn't really spoken for two weeks aside from light conversation at mealtimes, so Sirius supposed she had a right to think something strange was going on. Narrowing her eyes yet still managing to look concerned, Artemesia repeated, "Sirius, what's going on? You look terrible."

Feeling guilty, he looked down at the floor. Maybe he should have at least made sure they had this conversation in the office, but if it went the way he hoped, then there was no problem if anyone overheard him push away one of the few people he still cared about. "You shouldn't worry about me, 'Sia," he murmured. This was the only way. He had to do this. Sirius looked up and saw the look in her eyes and the expression on her face and made his decision.

* * *

Artemesia was worried. She hadn't seen Sirius like this for years, not since the beginning of the end of the war. Artemesia still didn't quite understand how his mind worked, but Sirius was an old pro at blaming himself for everything. As a result, she wasn't so surprised he was at her office door. He was probably planning on doing something stupid like apologizing for trying to avenge James and Lily and thereby abandoning her.

It drove her insane that he still didn't get it. _She'd already forgiven him_. She understood why he had needed to confront Peter Pettigrew. She didn't understand why events had turned out the way they had and hated that, but she might have done the same in Sirius's place. Granted, she probably would have gone to the Aurors first and cleared her name, but Artemesia knew Sirius was more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of man when under emotional duress, hence why he was infuriating. Still, she wouldn't have him any other way. However, she had to say something, because he was about to do something stupid. "Sirius, stop it. What are you…?" she drifted off, hoping she hadn't realized what he was planning on saying. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

Sirius was about to reply, but his expression suddenly changed. It was a bad sign when he went from looking determined to incredibly unsure. It also meant he had been thinking for far too long in his office, alone. He looked off to the side again and took a shaky breath. Turning back, he looked her in the eyes and started, "Artemesia, I…" He looked so guilty and hurt, and Artemesia knew what he was going to say. He was such a self-sacrificing bastard sometimes. She wondered why he never noticed that trying to distance himself didn't just hurt him, but it hurt the people he cared about, too.

What was worse was she knew what had brought it on. Clenching her jaw, Artemesia snapped, "Save it, Sirius. I get the point." His face had blanked, but she continued, "And, you know what? Fine. Push me away again. See what I care!" Artemesia turned to walk back into her office, but before she shut the door, she stopped and said acidly (her tone wasn't because of hurt or grief or disappointment), "I can't believe you. I can't believe you would just let me walk away, you fucking bastard!" She knew he was standing there, taking the abuse, to remind himself why he was doing this, because he couldn't let himself be happy. He didn't have a right to be."I swear to God, Sirius, if you're doing this because you think it'll be better this way or some other bullshit you've used to convince yourself, you deserve everything you get!" she shouted at him. He bloody damn well deserved every word.

Sirius hadn't moved, and it didn't look like he was going to. It figured; it really did. Artemesia blamed his family for fucking him up so badly. He was always trying to make sure everyone else was all right, and God forbid something go wrong, because if something went wrong, then it was his fault. Since everything in his life seemed to go wrong for one reason or another, he felt guilty for things he had no control over. (And she had thought the younger brother was the fucked up one. Ha! Sirius had to go and prove her wrong there, too.)

Still, she had expected him to defend himself. Just a little, nothing over the top, maybe a "you don't understand" or a "that's not what I meant," but it didn't look like he was going to reply at all. Angry at the world, she demanded, "Do you have nothing to say for yourself? Really, Sirius? Nothing?" She let go of the door to her office and laughed bitterly. "For fuck's sake, what the hell is wrong with you?" Artemesia challenged, her voice cracking.

They stood there in silence for a moment before he sighed. Remarkably calm, he said levelly, "You're right. You're absolutely right. I don't deserve this; I don't deserve any of this." His mask started to crack, and Artemesia could tell that he had spent that entire time trying to figure out what to say. However, his voice broke as he continued, "I'm sorry. I'll—I'll just go. I can't—I won't bother you again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… I'm such a—" He broke off and glanced up before looking down at the ground again.

Slightly calmer, Sirius reiterated, "I don't deserve you, Artemesia, and you deserve someone better. I'm an emotional wreck, and I've more problems than I can count." He suddenly stopped and looked at nothing before continuing, "You've done nothing to warrant being cursed with me, and I'm sorry."

Obviously feeling it was as good a time as ever, Sirius turned to leave, but Artemesia had closed the distance and caught his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. She was about to demand if that was all he had to say, but, defeated, he murmured, "Please, 'Sia, just let me go."

"No," she answered stonily as she tightened her grip on his arm. Sirius was near his breaking point, so, if she wanted to know why he had come down to speak with her, she couldn't back down.

With his back to her, he murmured, "Please, 'Sia. If I stay…" He drifted off for a moment before continuing more strongly, "If I stay, I'll just…" It had been inevitable that he did not get to the point, because that would have been too easy, and God forbid that Sirius Black made any sense the first or fourth time he answered a question.

"What?" she demanded harshly. "What is it, Sirius?" At his breaking point, he turned around and looked her in the eyes, but he lost his nerve again. She released his wrist. "Sirius!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her emotions out of her voice, but Artemesia knew she was fighting a losing battle. She didn't want him to leave. Couldn't he just come out and say it? That he thought she was better off without him and that they'd be better for it one day?

She had always been slightly irritated with him because of how unpredictable he could be. However, she found she had to revise her sentiments when he smiled sadly and said, "Can't you tell? I love you." His voice wavering, he continued, "I've always loved you, and I always will love you. But I can't do this. I just can't, because everyone I love dies!" Artemesia was speechless. Sirius looked down at the ground and admitted, "I can't consider losing you again, but if… Oh, God." He made a sound half-way between a sob and a laugh before apologizing, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't've. I'll go. I'm sorry."

This time, when he turned to leave, Artemesia realized that she had a decision to make. She either let him go… or she didn't. To be honest, she couldn't let him go. She remembered what inaction would do to him, and she knew she cared, because she didn't want him to feel like that. He loved her, and he was afraid of losing her, so he was doing what he thought was right to protect her. She didn't particularly agree with his plan, and she stopped him from leaving. Despite everything, he still was the boy she'd known in school and the man she had almost married. And she still loved him.

Just the look in his eyes as he realized she wanted him to stay was enough.

* * *

_**Notes:** As usual, thank you very much for reading and a double thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Feedback is always appreciated._

_Also, the second part of the story is beginning in the next couple of chapters, and I felt I should warn everyone that the fic is going to become progressively darker. Yes, there will still be sporadic humor, but I'm considering upping the rating due to the increasing prevalence of mature themes, etc. The classification of the fic may also change (e.g. genre, characters). Any thoughts?  
_

_**Updating Schedule: **Due to exams, chapter 45 is still in the process of being written, so twice a week posts will be instituted either in two weeks or next month.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Ron is unfortunate, the shit hits the fan, and Severus Snape is not a mailman._


	28. All Men Kill the Thing They Love

Ron had already established that his life sucked, but this was crossing the line. So he had been out after-hours technically illegally, but that was beside the point. No one had caught him. He, alas, after explaining not two weeks ago to Harry that he was afraid of the _possibility_ of teacher romance had run into the exact same two teachers snogging in a hallway, even if it was after-hours. (There was still a possibility that a student could walk by!) It was like when you saw something terrible and couldn't look away because it was morbidly fascinating. Like a train wreck.

Upon reflection, Ron realized that, at the rate he currently was going, he was going to be the unmentioned student who would walk in on the two of them. Had his karma run over someone's dogma? What had he done in a previous life to deserve this? Had he been a crazy knitter lady at the guillotine or something? If he hadn't, then why was he… Oh, thank God, they were getting a room.

Ron felt slightly better when Sirius shut the door behind him and Professor Vector. Only slightly, though. Hermione was going to blow a gasket. She was going to blow an absolute gasket. Maybe she'd have a conniption, too. She was not going to believe him, no, sir. Of course, Ron didn't have to mention to his best friends that the godfather of one was in all likelihood shagging the favorite teacher of the other. And he just used the word "shag" in relation to people of his parents' generation. Ron considered Obliviating himself but thought better of the idea. He would probably manage to mess the spell up somehow and be stuck in reruns of the past ten minutes _forever_.

It was not a happy thought, but Ron realized he was not alone in accidentally stumbling upon certain teachers doing certain things. Thinking about it like that was not helping. Damn. In any case, he was not alone. He was more horrified by whom his fellow voyeur was than the content of the watching. Ron sincerely hoped that the point of watching the two of them had been accidental shock/horror. Actually, he was willing to take the purpose as trying to find a way to get them fired, too. Yeah, that was definitely acceptable. It was also the sole way of rationalizing why Umbridge had just come into his line of sight and was glaring at the door.

The thought still distressed Ron, but it was a lot less distressing than the other options. He rushed to the Room of Requirement to his meeting with Harry and Hermione about The Scourge That Is Umbridge, because the walls had ears. (No, really. Just the other day, a Hufflepuff second-year had exclaimed that she had seen someone walking into and out of the walls and that he wasn't one of the ghosts. Other students had corroborated the Hufflepuff's story, and survey said that the majority of Man-In-The-Wall sightings had occurred in the library or near the Hospital Wing. One particularly traumatized Slytherin first-year insisted that the guy was someone named "the doctor," which continued to boggle the minds of most of the student body).

Calming himself down, Ron entered the Room of Requirement. Apparently their meeting of three had turned into a parliamentary affair. Ron immediately realized that he could not speak for the entire meeting, because if he did, then he would probably exclaim to everyone present, "Guess what? I just walked in on Sirius and Professor Vector practically having sex in the hallway!"

Everyone had turned to stare at Ron. Hermione slapped herself on the forehead. Ron continued to stand there before turning to Harry, who looked completely confused. Hoping against hope, Ron asked with great reservation, "I just said that out-loud, didn't I?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and replied, "No, Ron, you're just kind of twenty minutes late, and you're the secretary. We were kind of wondering where you were." After a moment, puzzled, he asked, "What did you think you said, though?"

"Er, nothing!" Ron exclaimed, trying to look inconspicuous as he rushed over to where Harry and Hermione were. Despite Ron's interruption, Hermione managed to regain order of the assembly. "Everyone, if you weren't aware, we are here for the purpose of finding proper ways to subvert the High Inquisitor," she started. She was about to continue, but she was interrupted by certain elements who were motivated by less noble purposes than those to which Hermione aspired.

"And what has she ever done for us?" Lee demanded, intent on galvanizing the crowd.

Half raising his hand, George reminded him, "She lowered the amount of homework."

Lee considered and nodded before demanding, "What has she ever done for us besides causing us to have less homework when she does an Inquisitorial check?"

The crowd seemed rather subdued at the thought, and Hermione had an ever-suffering look on her face, which Ron didn't quite understand. The dialogue sounded vaguely familiar, but why did Hermione look like she had a headache coming on? "She made clubs illegal!" Fred exclaimed as Ron tried to block out the image of Sirius and Professor Vector snogging. Ron missed those bygone days when he was oblivious.

"Don't forget about Quidditch!" Fred added indignantly. "She took away Quidditch!"

Hermione looked up to the ceiling in exasperation before regaining control of the meeting as she declared, "And she turned me into a newt. However, we do need to get onto real business. I call the first meeting of the Defense Association to order."

* * *

Terry felt ill, and he didn't feel that way because Voldemort had just cast the Cruciatus on him. There was something strange going on. Sure, he had just spoken out again, but the comment was actually meant to be constructive. He was trying to go back to the way he had been, after all, and doing a damn good job at it, if he said so himself. Terry didn't understand why the rest of the Death Eaters looked amused. It didn't help that he knew some people were missing, like… like Bellatrix. That was odd. She loved watching him suffer.

Lucius was here, but Terry would have been immediately suspicious were Lucius missing at the same time Bellatrix was. Snape was likewise missing, but he could have been anywhere. And the rest, the rest were laughing at him, at some inside joke. "What's going on?" Terry asked, his throat sore. This wasn't normal. There was something up. He knew there was something up.

Voldemort even looked amused by the question and deigned to answer it. Of course, he had to start off with a curse. "_Crucio_. Now, White, I do believe we had a deal. You were to join the Order of the Phoenix and report any relevant information, correct?" Voldemort stated.

Terry knew the Dark Lord meant to continue but he exclaimed in between screaming in agony, "I did! They haven't met yet! Please, mercy!" The pain ramped up a bit at the last, but Terry knew he had said the wrong thing before the plea had left his mouth. Only a couple sets of people asked for mercy, and none were loyal to Riddle, but he hurt too much to care.

Sighing, Voldemort continued with irritation, "Firstly, I do believe we have already had a conversation about when you should speak, Mr. White. Secondly, please refrain from begging for mercy. It's unseemly, and your behavior gives the wrong impression to captives." Casually recasting the Cruciatus on Terry, Voldemort resumed his former train of thought, "As I was saying, I ordered you to join the Order of the Phoenix. You were welcomed as quickly as we suspected, which was good. However, we have found something rather unusual with your behavior."

Twitching on the floor, Terry blanched. They really knew this time. They really knew. He was going to die, because they really knew. Voldemort knew. He was going to die, and Voldemort knew. All his work was for nothing, because Voldemort knew, and he was going to die. Before he knew what he was saying, Terry begged hoarsely, "Please, anything but Bellatrix! Anything! Let everyone else do what they want, but please don't hand me over to Bellatrix!"

Voldemort made a motion that Terry supposed once would have raised an eyebrow and smirked. Well, damn. Voldemort didn't know. Great. Now they knew Terry was scared to death of Bellatrix and would do anything to stay as far away from her as possible. Then again, it may have just been that Voldemort was amused because Terry's prior torture at the hands of Bellatrix had its effects. Either way, Terry was still up a creek without a paddle. "No, Mr. White, this has nothing to do with your seemingly weekly visits with Madame Lestrange," Voldemort informed him. He continued, "What I find disconcerting is your relationship with Sirius Black. While he can be fooled, and fooled rather easily, Black is generally a relatively accurate gauge of loyalty. He hates all who are loyal to our cause. You have failed the test, Mr. White."

Oh, this was much worse than what he had expected. Terry was not going to allow himself to hyperventilate. He wasn't. He knew he should have been colder to Sirius and badgered Severus more, but badgering Severus was only possible for so long before Severus just started hating him. Sirius was much more tolerating, but that may have been Terry's poor pain receptors talking. He had a feeling it was probably the pain receptors, and he wasn't concentrating on other things in order to take his mind off what his punishment was could be.

"Many called for your death, seeing as treason is usually punishable by it. However, with the type of man you are, there appears to be another tactic that may work better for all of us," Voldemort mused as Terry slowly managed to lift himself off the ground. "If you were to willingly work for us, then there would be no reason to execute you, so we win. If we don't execute you, then you live, and you win." So that was why he hadn't died yet. They thought that they could manipulate him into following their orders. Terry became furious at the thought. He had given his life once to the cause of destroying Voldemort forever, and he would be damned if he wasn't willing to do so again. However, Terry did do his best to look suitably frightened, and he almost missed Voldemort warning, "However, if you step out of line again, I will not be so lenient."

"Of course, my Lord," Terry rasped, wishing he sounded more obsequious in order to cover up his vehemence. That said, it was a little ridiculous that he was being punished for doing his job. He was technically spying on the Order when he spoke to Sirius, even if he didn't learn anything of any importance from their conversations other than the fact that Sirius really needed to see a grief counselor, a psychiatrist, or both. Terry would recommend both.

"Now why don't you run home to your pretty little wife? I am sure she would love to see you," Voldemort suggested, dismissing him. The comments turned Terry's blood to ice. Summoning Lucius over, the Dark Lord said, "Why don't you and Rudolphus see Mr. White out?"

Terry could only stare blankly at the floor as he realized what Voldemort had meant. "No," he murmured as Lucius and Rudolphus dragged him out the door. "No… You couldn't've…" he continued. Terry's breathing sped up when he remembered how Bellatrix was missing. "No!" Terry shouted, damning all his notions of remaining low-key. This, this was crossing the line.

Malfoy and Lestrange had taken him out of the meeting room and were leading him towards the exit as Terry started to threaten, "You bastards! I swear to God, if she's—" He couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. Whatever had happened was his fault.

Disgusted, Lestrange looked down at him and said, "If you had been loyal in the first place, your woman would not have suffered in your stead. Be intelligent, you witless fool. Follow the Dark Lord, and he may spare your mudblood brats. Step one toe out of line, and we may kill one of them next." Outside the door, Lestrange threw Terry to the ground and stormed away.

Malfoy stayed a while longer and warned, "White, I don't like you, and I doubt I ever will. However, I do find what Bellatrix suggested slightly deplorable. Your Ministry file may say you are a halfblood, but your bearing says otherwise. Regardless, do not think the Dark Lord would afford you any quarter. It is indeed foolish to believe that you can easily pull the wool over Black's eyes. Now begone, before I Confund you."

Terry glared at Lucius (blond, uptight git) and backed out of the doorway just before Lucius slammed it. Almost unable to move, Terry collapsed onto the ground and stared at the dark sky. It was oddly comforting, lying there and watching the stars, but he returned to reality soon enough. Staggering to his feet, he tried to calm down.

He looked back at the night sky and bit back some hysterical laughter. God, he hoped Vesta was all right.

* * *

Artemesia felt her day was turning out to be a rather nice. Everything seemed to be going right again. Well, as right as it could go. She and Sirius still had issues to work out, but at least they knew where they stood with each other. She was surprised he hadn't asked about Gemma, though. In the past, he had always respected when she didn't want to talk about something, but Artemesia wasn't sure if she should wait for him to ask or if she should just tell him Gemma… and Peter.

However, that was a topic for another day. Today, the sun was shining, and it was positively balmy, at least for Scotland in late November. When she had been teaching that morning, Artemesia realized the students may have finally decided to revolt again Umbridge. Of course, Artemesia also suspected that the Weasley twins might have been raking in the dough, unless their little brother hadn't told them he had the worst luck in the universe.

Both she and Sirius had noticed Ron had been unfortunate enough to stumble across them the night before. It had been why they'd ducked into her office. Artemesia had barely been able to keep herself from laughing when she noticed Ron. That poor kid really did have the worst luck. Understandably, Sirius had been less than amused when Artemesia told him Ron had seen them. He did have Harry to think about, after all, and Artemesia didn't put it past Sirius to have completely avoided the topic of their relationship with Harry. Poor Ron Weasley. If it wasn't being completely oblivious to Hermione Granger's affections, it was catching his teachers snogging in the hallway. Artemesia couldn't help laughing a bit at the thought. She wondered if she wasn't on something, with the way she was acting. Well, she didn't particularly give a damn.

She had a job that she loved, a generally well-behaved daughter, and… And God only knew why, but Sirius still loved her. Yes, Artemesia felt she had a right to be happy, at least for now. It was going to turn out all right.

Artemesia had also never realized how hard it was to refrain from skipping around the school. She laughed and almost decided to tell with propriety before she noticed a rather muted Auriga. Immediately concerned, she dropped her grin and asked tentatively, "Auriga, is something wrong? Did Snape steal your favorite sweater again?"

Automatically indignant, Auriga exclaimed, "No, he did not steal my sweater! He never did in the first place! You and your crazy delusions made that up!" After a moment, Auriga became far more serious and hesitantly resumed, "No, Arty, this isn't good news. I just saw your whatever, Terry, about five minutes ago. He was looking for you or his kids. He was really out of it, and I asked what was going on. All he did was ask me to find you. Arty, do you think something bad's happened?"

Well, there went all of Artemesia's good humor. If Terry had shown up out of the blue and what passed for frantic, then something terrible had happened. He never did something like that unless he was in need of moral support, and Artemesia didn't like the sound of Terry being in need of moral support. Calmly, Artemesia replied, "I don't know, Auriga. It sounds like he's really worried." She could think of too many reasons that would cause Terry to be so worried, but Artemesia cleared her mind and asked, "Did he tell you where I should meet him?"

Apparently Artemesia was now giving off a doom-like vibe instead of the rainbows and sunshine and kittens vibe, because Auriga nodded grimly and reported, "He told me to tell you he'd meet you near the Hospital Wing. That was where he was going to check for his kids if they weren't in their classes." Grimacing, Auriga continued, "I really hope everything's all right, Arty. He looked really worried."

Smiling a bit, Artemesia said, "Thanks, Auriga. It means a lot. I'll tell Terry. He'd appreciate it." Auriga nodded, and Artemesia rushed off to the Hospital Wing. She skidded to a halt a hall away from her destination and resumed walking. When she turned the final corner to where the wing was, she saw Terry there with both of the children. Honestly, she had never seen him look that emotionally broken. Macha looked more upset than Leo, but Artemesia knew Leo was just as upset as his sister. What had happened was plain as day. Artemesia recognized the look on Terry's face. She had seen the expression on his brother enough to identify the emotion. Vesta was badly injured.

Her reaction was terrible, but Artemesia was glad Terry looked as torn up as he did. If he hadn't been, then the news would have been worse. People reacted to loss differently, but if Terry had just checked out, then it would have meant Vesta was dead.

Hoping she was right, Artemesia walked over and kneeled next to Terry, who was likewise doing so while the children cried. "What happened, Terry?" she asked quietly, returning the unexpected hug as her nephew started sobbing into her shoulder instead of his father's. "Is—is Vesta all right?" Artemesia asked shakily, not really wanting to know the answer.

It took a moment for Terry to find his voice, but Artemesia didn't blame him. Trying to comfort both of the children when he was in just as much emotional turmoil couldn't have been good for him. "She's not doing well," he replied haltingly. His daughter started sobbing anew, and Terry looked at Artemesia pleadingly. "I—I was just at St. Mungo's, and Diana said that she did all she could, but they…" Terry trailed off and bit his lip. "Oh, God, I should have been there. I shouldn't have tried to—I shouldn't have gotten involved again," he said, obviously trying not to follow his daughter's lead and giving in to his need to cry.

"Terry, you just said it yourself. You couldn't do anything," Artemesia reminded him softly, rubbing Leo's back. The poor boy thankfully didn't seem to be processing the conversation. "And we both know you would have regretted it if you hadn't taken this job back. Don't deny it," she continued, wishing she knew how to help him get a hold of himself. She knew it was cruel to tell him it was for the greater good, but she knew she had to. Damn it, Vesta may have been her cousin, but they were almost as close as sisters.

Terry had a right to be torn up, and Artemesia kept wondering why she wasn't more so. She didn't have a right to tell him to stop sitting there and do something about what had happened, but she didn't want him to go off and possibly get himself killed or worse. That said, he did have to keep fighting. God, why was she so detached? Why was she looking at everything logically? Vesta was in the hospital, possibly dying, and Artemesia was thinking about logistics, and the war, and the bloody Greater Fucking Good that justified everything! It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. Vesta didn't deserve to get hurt like that! She was a civilian, even if she was married to a spy with a death wish. Terry would have died before knowingly putting her in danger, but…

Artemesia realized she was crying, and it was about bloody time. She glanced over at Terry, who was holding onto Macha for dear life. She had quieted down a little, but Terry was obviously at his breaking point. He said he had already been to see Vesta, and if he was this distressed, then she at least had to be in critical condition. It sounded like Diana had managed to remain mostly fine, but Terry's silence on the matter could have meant anything. At least there was no chance that the Death Eaters had taken prisoners. Otherwise, Artemesia wouldn't be sitting in the hall with Terry and the kids. She would be sitting with the kids in her office, trying to keep them from knowing that their mother might have been dead and that their father was off seeking revenge, with or without help.

Artemesia wiped at her eyes with her free sleeve and noticed one of her coworkers swooping down the hall. When Snape came closer, he slowed down to a halt about fifteen feet away. She had no idea why he was staring at Terry until his expression turned from curiosity to shock, realization, and then finally to general irritation. Artemesia expected Snape to turn and go back the way he came, but he didn't. Whatever Snape had realized was not as important as what he had to say, apparently.

Terry would not be paying any attention to anyone that didn't share a last name with him anytime soon, but Artemesia had to give Snape credit for trying. At least he had the decency to look slightly ashamed of himself for trying to talk to Terry, too. Artemesia glared a warning at Snape for good measure. He ignored her, which was to be expected, and said less harshly than expected, "White, I know this isn't a good time, but we have to talk."

"Go away, Sev," Terry warned darkly, not once looking up from the floor. Snape didn't move, even if he did look strangely sympathetic. Artemesia decided that she categorically did not want to know. At that point, Terry looked up. It was obvious that he was exhausted and probably hadn't slept, but the other two adults knew that wasn't why his eyes were red. His voice breaking, Terry repeated, "Sev, I mean it. Go away. I can't deal with anything you'd say to me right now." Making clear that was his final word on the matter, he resumed ignoring the rest of the world and checked on Macha, who was still intent on not letting go of him.

"White—Terry, I think you might want to hear me out," Snape insisted, actually trying to be halfway decent for once and addressing Terry by his first name. He continued, "I know you'd be better off with your family, but this is important, and I'm almost certain that it's relevant." In the most unprecedented action Artemesia had ever witnessed, Snape added patiently, "And if you still decide otherwise, that's fine. It probably could wait. I just figured that you might want to know."

Terry froze slightly but recovered enough to seemingly make a decision. He shut his eyes and sighed. Ignoring Snape for the moment, Terry turned to talk to Macha. "Honey? I need to speak to your Head of House," he murmured. "I'll be right back, okay? Stay with your aunt, all right?" he asked her, managing to keep his voice level. Macha nodded slowly, and Terry tried to smile, but it came across as pained. He stood up as Macha detached herself from him and reattached herself to Artemesia, to whom Terry sent an apologetic glance. He turned back to Snape and said coldly, "Shall we?"

Grimacing, Snape nodded and the two of them walked down the hall, out of hearing range. Artemesia had a very bad feeling about what Snape had to say and then realized why Snape was acting less like himself than usual. He had finally recognized Terry. Artemesia just hoped the ensuing conversation wouldn't result in Terry going off and doing something incurably idiotic. And what in the world was she supposed to do with the children?

* * *

Terry was very irritated with Severus. Even if this _whatever_ Severus had been talking about was helpful to any degree, it probably could have waited. Never mind, anything short of the bloody apocalypse could have waited at least a couple of hours. Now that they were out of hearing range, Terry growled, "What the fuck do you think is so important, Severus? What?" Not giving the other man any time to reply, he accused, "I know you weren't at the meeting last night, so why the fuck should I still give you the bloody time of day? My wife is in one of the curse wards at St. Mungo's, and she could—she could still…" Severus just stood there, watching him impassively, as Terry broke down. "Damn it, you could have at least warned me!" he cried.

Frowning, Severus sighed and said too calmly, "White, you and I both know that had I told you anything, we would both be under Voldemort's suspicions." Leaning against the wall, Terry glared at him, which prompted Severus to continued with exasperation, "I wasn't there, White, and I'm not sure who was. You are right that I knew that something was going to happen, but I wasn't privy to who or what." After a pause, he added with no irony, "I am sorry, if that helps at all."

Terry almost snapped back that it was the last thing he wanted to hear, but he knew Severus was only trying to help. Quietly, Terry said, "You were working on those new batches of Veritaserum and Polyjuice, weren't you?" To tell the truth, he should have remembered, but he was managing to screw himself over today, wasn't he? Out of habit, he straightened up and continued formally, "I forgot myself and apologize for my inappropriate behavior."

Severus looked slightly amused by what Terry had just said, but Terry didn't have the energy to try and figure out what Severus thought was so funny. He'd just apologized, hadn't he? What was so bloody strange about that? Becoming serious again, Severus replied, "You don't need to. You have a right to be suspicious of me, and you also have a right to be angry with me." Deciding to get to the point, he explained, "I would have left you alone until you confronted me on your own time, but I received a letter addressed to you, White. Judging by the identity of the sender, I suspected that you would rather know about it sooner rather than later."

Taking the proffered letter from Severus, who had just taken it out of his pocket, Terry looked at the wax seal. That made no sense at all. "What in the world does Malfoy want with me?" he murmured. Looking at Severus in confusion, he asked, "Do you have any clue why he might have sent this to me? I—well, he certainly made his feelings clear on the matter last night." Terry wondered why he was behaving so calmly. Then again, he had always managed to bury his own feelings when a good enough mystery was shoved at him, hadn't he?

Studying him, Severus dodged the question and answered, "White, maybe you should wait to read the letter. You look like you were run over by a train." Terry sent him an annoyed look, figuring Severus was back to his normal, sarcastic self, but the older man actually still seemed sincere. Terry started to wonder if it was a sign of impending doom. Obviously irritated, Severus snapped, "Don't give me that look, White. I'm trying my best here to be sympathetic, because you're not in the right emotional state to deal with sarcasm or general abrasiveness at the moment. Give me a break." Sighing with exasperation, Severus continued, "And to answer your question, the handwriting on the outer envelope was too feminine to be Lucius's, which as we both know is a Herculean task indeed."

Terry almost smiled at the joke at Lucius's expense, but his face blanched as he realized what that meant. "You mean to say that Ci—Narcissa sent it?" he demanded urgently. Oh, hell. Why would Narcissa send a letter to him, out of the blue like that? There was only one explanation. Terry continued, "Do you think she'd know about what happened last night?"

Severus's expression hardened. "She would have known, White," he replied hesistantly. "Lestrange has been going on about her plans to make you suffer for the past couple of weeks. I am sure she would have gone on about it to her sister. There seems to be a genetic component to being unable to keep one's mouth shut," Severus continued, finally starting to behave more normally. The sympathy had been appreciated, but Terry preferred to have Severus act like he always did. He could always count on Severus to act like an acerbic and disgruntled Potions Master.

"I'm sure Sirius appreciates the sentiment," Terry replied absentmindedly as he studied the sealed letter more closely before breaking the seal and reading the contents. Severus didn't leave in the time it took for Terry to finish reading, and Terry wasn't sure he should be glad or distressed by that. Grimacing, he refolded the letter and took a deep breath. It had not been what he had suspected. Then again, trust Narcissa to take that opinion in the war. He'd known for years that she didn't particularly fit on one side or the other. Her own opinions on the blood-purity issue were practically unknown, but the one thing she did agree on was that the fighting needed to stop. In response to Severus's questioning look, Terry explained, "She wants to meet with me today. How she knew I'd run into you is beyond me, but apparently whatever she wants to say is urgent. Lucius is out today, too, which means she might be talking—"

"White, for our own good and for Narcissa Malfoy's, I do not believe you should finish that sentence," Severus reminded him sternly. "If she does mean what you are thinking, then the fewer who know, the better. However, if I were you, I would not walk into that house alone."

"Right," Terry acknowledged, considering his options. After a moment, he slipped the letter into his jacket pocket and said, "Severus, thank you. If all goes well, I'll see you later."

With a terse nod and a goodbye, Severus left, leaving Terry to go back and break the news to Artemesia. Terry did not particularly relish the idea of leaving the kids with her on such short notice, but he did need to go. Terry only hoped that Artemesia would see it that way.

Back near the Hospital Wing, Terry found a very nervous-looking Gemma waiting for him. Granted, she looked like she might be on the verge of tears, but she was much stronger than Terry had been at her age, so he wasn't sure. "Gemma, where's your mother?" he asked.

Gemma looked at him nervously before answering, "I don't know. Mum said to tell you she had to go somewhere, and Leo's with Macha in the infirmary, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do, and no one told me what's going on!" Now visibly upset, she said, distressed, "Uncle Terry, tell me what's going on. Macha won't stop crying, and Leo won't talk to me."

Looking down at the ground, Terry replied softly, "It—it's complicated, Gemma." Putting his hand on her shoulder, he looked her in the eyes and explained, "Ve—your aunt got hurt last night real bad. I, um, I'd told Leo and Macha, and your mum was here, but I—I need to go somewhere. I know your mum doesn't need more responsibilities, but could you ask her to look after your cousins? I'd stay, but—"

Gemma, who had been studying his expression with an intensity he only expected out of her father, cut him off to say, "It has to do with your job, doesn't it? Everything, I mean." Terry was slightly taken aback by her deduction, but what had he expected her response would be? Suddenly looking vulnerable, Gemma asked in a small voice, "Please come back. Please don't leave like Dad…"

Terry, needless to say, felt guilty. However, he had every intention of returning as soon as possible. He wasn't going to go off and hunt down a horde of Death Eaters or anything. That was just plain suicide. With an attempted smile, Terry reassured her, "It's going to be fine, Gemma. I'm just going to be gone for a while, all right? I'm coming back."

After a brief hug, Gemma rushed into the Hospital Wing to stay with her cousins. Terry bit back a sigh and started to retrace his steps through the corridors. He should have been looking for Artemesia, but he didn't have time. Narcissa had been very specific about the time he should arrive at her house. Terry did find it necessary to follow Severus's advice and find a second, hence why he was retracing his steps. Terry was glad that classes were over for the day. He might have a better shot at acquiring some aid.

Finally, he stopped outside an office door and knocked in a manner that could be construed as frantic. After a moment, Sirius opened the door and raised an eyebrow at Terry. Terry did have to admit that he probably deserved that, but he had a purpose in disturbing Sirius. "What do you want?" Black demanded without preamble.

Taking a breath, Terry said as earnestly as he could, "Sirius, I need your help."

* * *

_**Notes:** Sorry about the late update. Thanks for reading and thank you very much to everyone who reviewed.  
_

_Again, the second part of the story is beginning with the next chapter, and the fic will become progressively darker. I've started to overhaul the fic, and the prologue through through this chapter is updated.  
_

_**Updating Schedule: **Due to another overhaul of the entire story, I am still in the process of writing chapter 45. Hopefully I can write enough to catch up to the one-year buffer before the summer is over. Anyway, I only just finished editing this chapter, hence why the update is two weeks overdue.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Sirius is insensitive, Terry is inconsolable, and Narcissa would like a cup of Irish coffee._


	29. You're the Last Thing on My Mind

Sirius wasn't quite sure why he had gone along with White on this crazy adventure of his. Sirius didn't particularly mind helping, but nothing justified walking outside in the cold and dark. Was it snowing? It might have also been snowing. Bloody White, dragging him off to trudge through the snow. This wasn't what Sirius had signed up for. Sirius had signed up for fighting the good fight and catching bad guys. Well, he'd also volunteered to help destroy the horcruxes, but Sirius knew this had nothing to do with the horcruxes. After all, dear cousin Cissy knew much better than to involve herself so obviously with something illegal or generally dark.

White had been remarkably tight-lipped about the whole affair, but Sirius had the feeling something had happened. When the younger man had shown up at the door to his office, Sirius could have sworn he had seen someone else. It didn't matter who, but White was hiding something, something that was obviously weighing on him. Then again, only a desperate man would venture into the lion's den just to have a conversation with the snow queen herself.

Sirius couldn't take the silence anymore when they began to walk up the drive to Malfoy Manor. Stopping, he declared, "White, I'm not going any farther until you tell me what the hell is going on." Apparently he sounded serious enough, because White did stop where he was. Feeling the need to explain himself, Sirius continued, "Now, look, I'm going with you regardless, but you look like you've been through hell since the last time I saw you. Something's up, and I'm not going to talk to the Princess of Lies until you lay all your cards on the table. I trust you, White, I really do, but you don't know Narcissa like I do. She can manipulate a situation with the same ease with which most people breathe, and I don't want you to get caught in her web."

In the darkness, Sirius couldn't tell what kind of expression White had on his face, but his tone communicated enough. "I know what I'm doing, Sirius; leave it at that," White replied, sounding too resigned for Sirius's liking. He continued steely, "You're better off not knowing what's going on. It's a matter between Narcissa and I. She sent Lucius away for the night. God only knows why she's calling on me for a weregild negotiation, but—"

"What?" Sirius exclaimed, cutting White off. That was not something to be taken lightly. Weregild? Honestly? If Narcissa was using laws so esoteric to speak with White, then White was hiding one hell of a secret. "What do you mean? Why is she calling on you for that? Unless the Death Eaters have suddenly grown a collective conscience, why would Narcissa demand your presence at a negotiation for monetary compensation for the family of one of their victims?"White's silence on the matter was unnerving, and Sirius was about to flat-out demand what was bothering him until common sense smacked him upside the head with a shovel. There was a very good reason, after all, that Narcissa could be calling on White because of weregild. Sobered and feeling guilty because of how completely insensitive he had been, Sirius hazarded, "They hurt her, didn't they? Your wife?" White did not reply and only resumed walking toward the door to the Manor. Catching up to him Sirius apologized sincerely, "White, I'm sorry, but you should be suspicious of Narcissa's motives. I've never heard of anyone on that side of the war ever invoking that law willingly. Hell, I've never heard of anyone representing the guilty party invoking it, either."

Stopping himself this time, White replied icily, "I bloody know damn well it sounds really bloody suspicious, Sirius, but please shut up." He looked up before sighing and running a hand through his hair. "I know you're trying to be helpful, and I really do appreciate that you've come with me, but please just—Look, I know what I'm doing, all right?" White said, sounding strained and looking defeated. Pleadingly, he continued, "Just trust me, Sirius, please."

Sirius figured that the best course of action was to nod and follow White the rest of the way in silence. He had never been too good at the silent part, but they made it to the door of the Manor in silence. White hesitated before he knocked on the door. Apparently, he did indeed know who he was dealing with.

After a moment, White abruptly turned to face Sirius. "Look, could you at least try to be civil?" he pleaded. Sirius was unsure as to why White would think that he needed to be reminded not to tick off Narcissa. She might have decided to turn informant, after all. Then again, if wishes were horses, then all men would ride. "Please?"

"I'm not going to jeopardize the situation, White," Sirius assured him. He found it strange that White needed the reassurance. Sirius and Narcissa, while they had not always gotten along, had kept up the appearance that they didn't completely despise each other. In fact, even if they had been on the same side, Sirius doubted that his relationship with his cousin would change all that much. "Really. I'm not just saying that to make you feel better," he added.

White, still obviously nervous, nodded distractedly and replied, "Good." Taking a deep breath, he turned to Sirius and asked, "Are you ready?" The question was probably more meant for White himself rather than Sirius, who wished White would knock on the bloody door already. Sirius was more than ready to get the whole affair over with. Regardless of whatever Narcissa was planning, she had an ulterior motive. That was just a fact of life, but Sirius could tell that White was hiding something, too, not that Sirius was going to push it. He had faith that White was on the right side, and most of the younger man's actions meshed with what Sirius expected of him. In fact, the only curve ball had been that White knew about the horcruxes. However, nobody was perfect. With a grin, Sirius replied in the affirmative, and White knocked on the door.

Narcissa answered in the manner she usually did: she sent a house elf. Sirius sent a wry look at White, who appeared determined to ignore him. The elf informed them that they were to follow him. White thanked the elf, and Sirius had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He really hoped White didn't talk to Hermione about her little pet project. On the other hand, White looked suddenly confused. "Where'd Dobby go?" he asked Sirius quietly so they didn't draw any attention from the portraits, which were all ignoring the two of them.

Deciding to humor him, Sirius replied, "Works at Hogwarts now. He's paid and happy to be free. Harry tricked Lucius into giving Dobby a sock." For some reason, he felt he had to continue, "Apparently the Great Blond Git was having Dobby iron his hands when he did something wrong as a light punishment."

"Lucius always was an ass," White agreed. He paused before he said, "I'm glad to hear about Dobby, though. How on Earth did Potter fool Lucius into setting Dobby free?"

"Harry had destroyed some enchanted book of Voldemort's by impaling it with a basilisk fang, and Lucius had been the one that snuck it into Hogwarts in the first place. He was there at one point with Dobby, and Harry returned the book with a sock in it. Lucius, predictably, to avoid being connected with the book, handed it to Dobby, thereby freeing him," Sirius casually explained.

White looked confused for a moment before he repeated, "Harry destroyed an enchanted book of Voldemort's with a basilisk fang?" Sirius wondered what was so important about it. It was an enchanted book, and there had been a basilisk handy, so there wasn't really anything strange about the situation. Unless, of course, you took into account the fact that a twelve-year-old killed a basilisk in the Hogwarts sub-basement. Okay, so it was weird.

"Yeah. Our old friend the Riddler was possessing the Weasley girl, Ginny, and he'd been having her order around the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets," Sirius clarified, as he obviously hadn't been clear enough the first time. "According to Harry, Ginny'd tried to flush the book down the toilet, but Moaning Myrtle wouldn't hear of it and flooded the WC."

"Moaning Myrtle's creepy. I saw her once in the Quidditch locker rooms, you know," White remembered, probably wishing he hadn't. He continued, "You know, I once heard the basilisk's name was Fluffy. Pity it's dead; that was probably the last of them…"

"Maybe it's better that they are extinct," Sirius murmured. "I mean, something that dangerous? Even if she was overly chatty, I can't believe Riddle would be willing to let her die. Fluffy, I mean. That said, I don't think he was planning on letting Harry leave alive, but…"

Terry nodded in understanding, and they both fell silent. Sirius wasn't sure why he was so trusting of the younger man. It just didn't make sense! Hell, half of what White said sounded like lies, even if the man's intentions were good. Sirius just wished he knew why he trusted White despite that he had been given reason—good reason—not to.

The house elf left them in front of the doors to the parlor and went in to tell Narcissa they had arrived. Sirius vaguely wondered if it was a good idea to let the house elf announce he was there, since he and Narcissa pretended that the other didn't really exist. The thought reminded Sirius it probably hadn't been the best idea for White to ask him to tag along. Well, it had been White's decision.

The house elf then returned and held the door open for them. These stupid formalities had always managed to grate on Sirius's nerves. It would have been just as easy for Narcissa to answer the door herself, but, no, she had to order a house elf answer the door and lead them around. It was just plain ridiculous. White entered the room first, but Sirius decided to hang back a couple of steps. He didn't want to give Narcissa the wrong impression; the only reason he was here was because of White.

Narcissa was lounging in a chair next to the fireplace, reading some romance novel, as she was apt to do. Without looking up, she said in a disinterested tone, "Sirius, I didn't expect that you would actually come." Knowing she wouldn't get an answer, Narcissa looked up and smiled at White. "I apologize, but you know Sirius," she explained. Setting her book down, she gestured at the couch across from the fireplace. "Please, sit," she said.

White took a seat, but Sirius decided to be a pain and lean against the wall behind the couch. Narcissa, for her part, completely ignored him, but White shot him an exasperated look. Sirius took a page from Narcissa's book and pretended not to notice. White then said politely, "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, for extending this invitation to me, but I do not understand why you found it necessary to do so."

So White was going to do this the long, boring, drawn-out way. Joy. Sirius kept his expression bored and slightly disdainful. It was what was to be expected. If he knew her, Narcissa expected nothing less from him. He was technically head of the Black family, after all. Oddly enough, Narcissa dropped the affected pureblood act. She frowned in concern and started sincerely, "Mr. White, I know about what happened last night." Sirius found it odd that White stiffened at her words, but he wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about. Narcissa continued, "I find it… loathsome that the company—" If that wasn't a euphemism for the Death Eaters, Sirius didn't know what was. Besides, she didn't need to hide what she was saying in front of Sirius. It wasn't like he was an Auror anymore. "—would take the action that it did. I wish to apologize for the part that my family had in it. You and Lucius may not get along, as they say, but I think we both know where the fault truly lies—don't give me that look, Sirius. You're acting like a petulant child—Therefore, I would like to open negotiations with the House of White before this escalates into vendetta."

From Sirius's vantage point, White may have looked completely stoic for the majority of Narcissa's little speech, but he had relaxed marginally when she had started to talk politics. Sirius should have suspected that Narcissa had been thinking along those lines from the start, though. She wasn't speaking on behalf of the Malfoys; she was speaking on behalf of the Blacks. The White family and the Black family had not exactly been on good terms since some argument back during James I's reign that ended with the Whites immigrating to what was at that time the Colonies and never coming back. Understandably, Narcissa viewed anything that could be construed as fuel for a feud (like, say, Bellatrix wantonly killing or trying to kill people) as a threat to the family that had to be defused. And people wondered why Sirius had run away…

White nodded curtly and replied, "I understand. However, I married into the family and have practically no rank, so I don't think anything I say would necessarily be upheld by the head of the family. Aside from that, I doubt that you need to worry about vendetta." White's expression turned dark as he continued grimly, "As far as I care, House Lestrange is completely disconnected from the Black family." Sirius almost felt an infinitesimally small amount of pity for Bellatrix but thought better of it. That woman was in need of a hefty dose of karmic justice.

"I see," Narcissa remarked, pensive. Sirius wasn't quite sure how to interpret that. She should have known that were Sirius actually concerned about the whole political aspect of being the head of the family, he would have washed his hands of Bellatrix the moment he was exonerated. However, not everyone willingly made an enemy of Bellatrix. "Well, then if you feel that way, then I'd just like to say I condemn what my sister has done to you and your family," Narcissa continued earnestly. "She hasn't been herself for a very long time, and I feel I don't even know her anymore."

Sirius scoffed. "And when was that from, Cissy? Oh, say, when you graduated?" he demanded acidly, finally breaking into the conversation. "We both know the moment she joined the Death Eaters, she started going mad. It's what dark magic does to us."

Narcissa glared at Sirius and replied in a similar tone, "Well, Sirius, seeing as you didn't bother to speak to any of us once you'd gone off to live with the Potters, I didn't expect you to understand what happened. However, you are right in that her erratic behavior started around that time, but you shouldn't speak of what you do not know."

Incensed, Sirius demanded, "Why should I listen to you, Cissy? You still consider that madwoman family, for God's sake! What about Andy? Would you go on a limb like this for her or her daughter?" He only waited a beat before continuing, "I didn't bloody think so!"

Apparently, he had angered Narcissa enough for her to stand up in rage and shout at him, "Don't you presume to think I wouldn't do the same for Andromeda! She may have married that Mudblood Tonks, but she's still family! And, believe it or not, I'd do the same for you!"

"Where was that lovely sentiment when I was shipped off to Azkaban, hm? Or when Bella threatened 'Dora? Or when Mum…" Sirius trailed off for a tense moment before continuing, "What about when everyone believed I killed Reg? Huh? You could have bloody said something! You knew as well as I did that Bella was the one who tortured and murdered him. She deserves to rot in _hell_, Narcissa!"

Sirius did not register White leaving the room, and neither did Narcissa, who shot back, "No, Sirius, she needs help. She's ill, I agree with you on that, but you remember what she was like once. As to the rest, I'm only two years older than you! What was I supposed to do? You and Andy chose your side of the war, Bellatrix drew a line in the sand, and Reggie… He shouldn't have gotten involved, but if you hadn't gone and done what you did, he wouldn't have had to!"

"Are you saying that if I hadn't run away Regulus wouldn't have died?" Sirius demanded, almost shouting. She had no right—no bloody right.

"No, I'm saying that if you hadn't joined the Aurors, Bellatrix wouldn't have forced him to become a Death Eater!" Narcissa exclaimed, immediately wishing she could take back what she had said. She looked off to the side to regain her cool. Despite that he was furious with her, Sirius had to admit he had never seen Narcissa lose her temper like this. Of the three sisters, she had always been the quiet, dispassionate one.

However, Sirius had been rendered speechless. Yes, he had figured Bellatrix had done that as revenge, but to have Narcissa come out and tell him that it was true was something completely different. He looked down at the ground, also trying to regain his bearings. There was no way that he was going to let Narcissa know anything she had said affected him whatsoever. She couldn't know that he still felt this guilty, even after fifteen years. He took a deep breath and looked up, only to realize that White was gone. Sirius was about to say something when Narcissa admitted, "Sirius, I shouldn't have said that. It was uncalled for. All of us knew you would have never knowingly put Regulus in danger. I am sorry. I really am."

"It doesn't matter," Sirius murmured, waving it off. He did not want to talk about this. In a stronger voice, he informed her, "White's gone. I'm not surprised. Didn't expect that he'd want to stay and listen to us." Narcissa looked concerned when she noticed he was right, so Sirius continued, as his way of apologizing, "Narcissa, he doesn't seem the vengeful type. Even if he is, I doubt he'd take it out on our family. The only person White seems to blame is Bellatrix, who I assume was the one that almost killed his wife?"

Narcissa sighed. "Yes," she confessed, "I tried to talk her out of it, but she was intent on making a statement." Very seriously, Narcissa continued, "She has an unhealthy fixation with him, Sirius. He needs to be subtler. Bellatrix knows he is not loyal to the Cause, and we both know she will do whatever it takes to determine why and how."

The pieces of the puzzle finally clicked together. "You invited him here under the excuse of apologizing to warn him," Sirius realized. "Look, Narcissa, he knows what he's doing is dangerous. You shouldn't have to put yourself in danger like this. If Lucius found out—"

"If Lucius found out, do you really think that he would turn me in?" Narcissa interjected. She shook her head and corrected him, "Cousin, I made sure he was out because I do not want to put him in jeopardy with the Dark Lord. The Ministry is much more forgiving than he is." Neither said anything for a moment, but Narcissa suddenly said, "I hoped Mr. White had asked you to accompany him, and I do intend to honor what I wrote in the letter. Speaking of which, you need to check the basement. There is a Sevenfold Ward on the third door to the left. I assume you remember how to break the spell. I will go find Mr. White. Meet with us back here afterward."

Knowing that this was not the sort of gift-horse one looked in the mouth, Sirius nodded and replied curtly, "Fine." He left through the door he had used to enter the room and made a beeline for the basement stairs. Sirius only wished he didn't know the layout of the house well enough to find where Narcissa was referring to on his own, but he had suffered through many a long, boring dinner with the Malfoy family when he was a child. At least his father had held a similar opinion of Abraxas Malfoy as Sirius did of Lucius. (Oddly enough, his father had used the same vocabulary to make his opinions on the matter known.)

Once in the basement, which felt like more of a dungeon, he located the door and undid the warding. Sirius could only hope that Narcissa was being up-front with him. If she was setting him up for some stupid Death Eater capture-the-blood-traitor scheme, he was never going to forgive her. Granted, he didn't expect that she would do something like that, but he did not put it past Lucius. It was unlikely that the Death Eaters would use such a high-powered ward for a trap, though. Deciding yet again to hell with it, Sirius unlocked and opened the door.

He instantly regretted doing so as he was tackled by a strangely familiar, freakishly tall blonde woman.

* * *

Terry White was not a happy camper. He was sitting on the floor in a side-hall off the parlor with his back against the wall. He had left the parlor during the fight that had been brewing between Sirius and Narcissa. Their shouting match had been put off for a decade too many in his book. He just wished that their arguments didn't inevitably go back to the exact same thing, over and over again. Regulus had always hated it when his brother and cousin fought, and Terry really wished he didn't know why. If that was what two of them arguing was like, Terry did not want to know what would happen if anyone tried to get Andromeda and Bellatrix in a room with them.

Whatever the case, Narcissa did seem to be genuinely apologetic for Bellatrix's actions. Terry felt his blood boil when he thought about Lestrange. She was the cause for so much pain, and he would have gladly killed her at that moment. He knew he wouldn't have been able to exact his revenge in the real world. Bellatrix was well aware of her effect on him, and he wouldn't be able to get so much as one curse in edgewise before she tortured him for even daring to think about killing her. His reaction was pathetic. He knew that Voldemort had given the order, but Bellatrix had been the one to do all that to Vesta. Terry should have been there. He should have been! He should have checked in on her more often, then maybe he could have…

Terry sighed and knocked his head against the wall. Looking up at the ceiling, he wondered if Sirius and Narcissa had stopped fighting yet. He didn't hear any yelling anymore, but that meant absolutely nothing. Terry knew that some of the worst things were said in hushed tones, so maybe he should wait some more. Worst came to worst, Narcissa or Sirius would come look for him. Probably Narcissa. She was the host, after all. Terry hadn't been too surprised that she had only wanted to talk about politics. In fact, he was relieved. He had been terrified that she had used the letter as an excuse to talk to him again and tell him she recognized him.

It had taken him a long while, but he was near convinced that she knew. Her actions so far had done little to assuage his fears, but she did seem honest about her intentions. That day, at the restaurant, Narcissa had asked him questions too specific and pointed to be innocent conversation. For instance, when he admitted that he had taken his wife's name. She had started out asking about the kids' schooling and directed the questions towards his own origins. Narcissa always had been bright, and he should have expected her to figure it out. The final nail in the coffin had been when she started teasing him about Quidditch. He should have realized. Narcissa would have never been that informal with a complete stranger.

Of course, the two people he had wanted to keep in the dark the most remained thankfully oblivious. The first was Bellatrix. Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time until she realized who he truly was. She knew he wasn't Terrence Wales, and from his behavior, it wasn't that much of a cognitive leap to his real identity. The next time he saw her, she probably would realize. She was an intelligent woman, like her sister, but Terry could tell that Azkaban had taken its toll on her. He figured that she was worse off than Sirius because she had done such terrible things. He wasn't even considering what she had done to him, but what she had done to her victims in general was simply horrifying. Terry remembered hearing that the Prewetts had fallen in battle, and he had been happy that they'd gone out that way.

The second person who Terry had hoped to keep in the dark was his brother. He would have been lying if he had said he wasn't disappointed that his brother hadn't recognized him, but Terry had been trying to fool him. He had run into his brother very early on after he came back. They had simply passed in the street. Terry had turned back, unsure as to whether he had hallucinated or not, but his brother hadn't even taken notice of him at all. He had later met with him in a much more confrontational setting, but not once did his brother even have the slightest idea it was him. The slightest idea. He wasn't even trying. With Bellatrix, he felt like he was caught with a bloody nose in a shark-tank, but with his brother he didn't even have to try. Fuck, _Artemesia_, of all people, had recognized him instantly, and his bloody brother couldn't even tell he was lying! His brother!

Terry heard footsteps in the corridor and looked up to see Narcissa approaching. "There you are," she said with a smile. "I regret that you had to bear witness to that little argument between my cousin and I. We have had some trouble agreeing in the past."

Slowly standing, Terry replied, "It's fine, ma'am. I apologize for my disappearing act, but I figured you or Mr. Black might not have wanted me to be present for the disagreement. I understand that in the old families, one tends to keep arguments like that behind closed doors."

Narcissa shrugged and acknowledged, "That is true. However, the arguements between Sirius and I are of a more personal nature than discussions of class politics, but I thank you for your discretion." She seemed to be content with dancing around her real goal, even if it meant admit faults like that. Terry did not like what her behavior implied. "Shall we return to the parlor?" she asked him.

"Of course," Terry replied after a moment, hoping he hadn't acquiesced too quickly. If he had, she would likely become suspicious. As they walked back, Terry decided to return to their previous topic of conversation. He began, "So, Mrs. Malfoy—"

"Call me Narcissa," she insisted.

"Narcissa, then," Terry repeated, correcting himself. If she was willing to drop formality, in a discussion that was supposed to be of the utmost formality, then she knew. She had to. Trying to put it out of mind, he resumed, "I am aware that you wish to offer weregild, but this is the twentieth century. I do not require any compensation. Furthermore, I understand why your sister may have been driven to commit the acts she did." Terry could not keep the steel out of his voice as he said that last sentence, but he continued, "I may despise her for it, but I do not hold a grudge against anyone else for her sins. We are on the same side, after all."

Narcissa studied him for a moment as they reentered the parlor and reseated themselves. She shook her head and said, "Yes, we are, aren't we?" Terry wasn't sure whether or not to believe her. She hadn't said it with much conviction, after all. Narcissa continued, "I find it encouraging you are willing to forgo compensation, but I feel that you may prefer to take my offer. You see, Mr. White, I have often thought that this war, while based off principles in which I have believed since childhood, is unjust. I will admit that one of the reasons I changed my mind was that the Death Eaters started to go after the blood-traitors. However, the conflict is destroying wizarding society. So many good, pureblood families have been destroyed, and many lines are in danger of disappearing forever. The Black name is as good as doomed: I can't imagine Sirius surviving the war. Even if he does, what woman would take him?" Narcissa paused, assumedly for effect, but she reflected, "Well, I suppose there might be one or two, but I sincerely doubt he would be interested in the first that comes to mind."

Terry was starting to wonder what in all nine circles of hell Narcissa was getting at. She had never been this confusing in the past. He figured that she was starting to get to the point, though, because she had just admitted she had thoughts of high treason against Voldemort. Well, when Narcissa was decided on a matter, there was no swaying her. "Mrs. Malfoy, I am uncertain as to what you are trying to say. I mean, Sirius does currently has a snowball's chance in hell of passing on the family name, for various reasons, but if I'm not mistaken, you mean to say that you wish to aid those who would see Voldemort defeated?"

Straightening, Narcissa answered, "In not so many words, yes. Both Lucius and I want out. I know now that is just a wish, and neither of us can afford to risk taking a job such as yours. We are in too deep, and we have too many worries. I am sure you understand my meaning. My sister, as you know, holds nothing sacred. Once, blood was everything, but events have changed Bella. I am not sure anymore if Sirius's decision to run away indeed was the final straw, but that does not change the fact that I do not wish to stand by and do nothing."

Terry wasn't sure of what to say. He did understand that Narcissa was scared and she didn't want anything to happen to Draco (why Sirius called the kid the Amazing Bouncing Ferret was beyond Terry, but he wasn't going to question it). However, she wanted to switch sides seemingly without unduly angering Voldemort. "I'm sorry, but what exactly do you mean to do? I'm sure the Order would welcome any information, and I would vouch for you, but you must have something to offer," Terry asked.

"I am aware. It is why I asked you here," Narcissa clarified. With a thin smile, she continued, "Mr. White, I needed to at least set up a reasonable exmotive for my actions. I knew you would bring a second, and it truthfully did not matter whom, just a witness to my initial explanation. I have told you my true intentions, so it is only right that I explain." She collected herself before she began, "You see, Mr. White, about fifteen years ago, one of your people was murdered and her body buried. However, she wasn't, but not for lack of trying on the part of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. Believe you me, they tried. An ancient ward activated at the last moment and saved her life. I never quite understood nor cared to. Sirius, no doubt, will be able to make more sense of her reasoning. I generally need an interpreter. The bottom line, however, is that Lucius and I have been… watching one of yours for quite some time."

Terry should have been surprised, but he really hadn't expected anything less. Of course Narcissa would have a back-up plan that would indebt her family to both sides of the war and thereby secure their safety (or at least immunity) no matter what the outcome. He did hope that she was earnest about switching sides. She was smart, and she knew the sort of leader Voldemort was tended to cause more problems than they supposedly solved. "So you're using weregild as an excuse to let this woman go?" Terry repeated, mostly for his own benefit. "As a token of good faith? I understand that you believe this action would establish your loyalties without question, but if that's all you have to offer, then I don't know if a deal could be made. That said, I'm just a spy, Narcissa. I don't hold any real negotiating power. For God's sake, my colleagues mostly treat me like I'm a waste of air."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow and with a smile said, "Somehow, I have the feeling you might have more sway than you think, Mr. White." Still on the topic at hand, Narcissa continued, "As to what my intentions are, yes, I do mean to free her as a token of good will, but, no, this is not the only thing I intend to do. Unfortunately, I cannot guarantee that we will fight for the Order or the Ministry, but I can assure you I, in the least, will not be helping Voldemort. If the chance arises, I will help you, but only then."

"So you want to cover all your bases, then," Terry stated. "I can understand that, Mrs. Malfoy. If you or Mr. Malfoy came through with any information or dfought on our side, then I suppose you would be granted a degree of immunity. Well, Mr. Malfoy would. I assume you have remained neutral and therefore never joined the Death Eaters, if only because the tattoo is incredibly gauche."

Rolling her eyes, Narcissa replied theatrically, "Yes, I did it for fashion. You caught me." She laughed lightly and mused, "I should have expected you to essay a such theory. I can only imagine you've regretted the Mark at least in part for that reason, too. I was not the only vain one, even if you did remember your conscience far more quickly."

"I beg your pardon?" Terry said, stunned she had decided to call his bluff and hoping that he looked suitably confused. Maybe she would drop the subject if he denied her theory enough? Terry glanced over at the door, wondering where Sirius had gone. He knew that were the other man to return, Narcissa would have dropped the topic instantly, but he seriously doubted events were going to go his way.

"I've been waiting for you to tell me on your own, you know," Narcissa admitted, not conceding to his wishes. (Had she ever?) Looking concerned again, she said earnestly, "I really am sorry to hear about what happened to your wife. Whatever you might have done to infuriate the Dark Lord so, she did not deserve it. What Bellatrix did is dishonorable, and I still wonder why Sirius hasn't officially cut ties between her and the family."

Terry was surprised she had not addressed him by his real name and ended the charade. Maybe she was trying to mend broken bridges by not calling him out on his lie unless he was willing to admit it. 'Course, if he stopped lying to himself, he would admit that he didn't want to lie anymore, least of all to… He had a right to be suspicious, though, no matter what Narcissa said. "She's half-blood, you know," he said distantly. "My wife, I mean. Vesta. And I don't care. I don't know when I stopped believing, but for Merlin's sake, Cissy, did going to school with witches like Lily Evans do nothing? She was the best of her class, bar none. It just didn't make sense, what Mum said, in light of that. You know?" He was speaking haltingly, and his breathing was shaky again. Terry knew the stress and the pain and the exhaustion were catching up with him. He knew he hadn't recovered from anything, not those beatings or what he was trying his damnedest not to think about. He knew what he was going to admit was probably tantamount to suicide, but if Narcissa really meant what she had said, then it was worth it.

"It doesn't matter," Narcissa reassured him, moving to sit next to him on the couch. "As long as she makes you happy, that's enough. Really," she said soothingly, placing her hand on his shoulder. Terry had folded in on himself and couldn't stop from shaking. Narcissa continued in a soft voice, "She'll be fine, you'll see. St. Mungo's is the best in the world, remember?" Terry nodded almost imperceptibly. Well, on the bright side, if Narcissa was willing to let him have a nervous breakdown in her house, she was unlikely to turn him in. Noticing he was barely hanging on, she pulled him into a proper hug, and he let himself go. (Oh, God, he had missed her so much. So bloody much!) As he cried, she murmured, "Shh, Regulus, it'll be all right. It'll be all right, Reggie, you'll see…"

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: More of the blonde woman and dinner at the Leaky Cauldron.  
_


	30. Don't You Forget About Me

"Puppy!" the tall blonde woman exclaimed as she bowled Sirius over onto the floor. Grinning from her precarious perch on his chest, she asked cheerfully, "Are you here to rescue me? 'Cause you're a bit too good-looking to be a Death Eater." As he was incapable of responding whilst she was suffocating him, she sat down on the floor next to him. Grinning all the while, she watched as he sat up and tried to catch his breath.

"Yeah, I'm here to rescue you, if that's what you want," he gasped, feeling slightly lightheaded. This woman was not normal. Trust Narcissa to send him to a crazy person. "I'm Sirius Black."

The woman cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged and asked stonily, "So… Who are you here with?"

Giving up, Sirius responded with a sinking feeling, "I'm here with Terry White, but I doubt you've heard of him."

The woman grinned again and said cheerfully, "Brill! Where is he?"

Sirius didn't know whether to laugh or cry as he groaned and let himself fall back to the floor. This was not happening, but of course it was, because Narcissa was that cruel. Of course she'd go talk to White while sending Sirius to… "Why aren't you dead?" he exclaimed, half-frustrated and half-thankful.

"Because I am invincible! Really, Sirikins, you should know this," the woman replied in the way only she could. Scooting closer, she examined him. Finding nothing wrong, she declared, "Nope. You didn't seem to hit your head on anything. Hm. How odd. If I may inquire, who is this Terry person and what should I know of him?"

Sighing, Sirius sat up. He managed to avoid bumping into the woman, despite the fact that she was seriously invading his personal space. Then again, she always had. Sirius figured he better explain what was going on before finding out _why_—oh, God, _why_—the woman was locked in Narcissa's basement. He said, "Terry's this guy about two years younger than us. Spy against the Death Eaters. Has a chip on his shoulder about Voldemort. On our side. Now: _what the fuck?!_"

The woman sat up straight and cleared her throat. "Thanks to some Moste Excellente Madjik from Ye Olden Days, I live!" she supposedly explained in return. A bit less theatrically and with some confusion, she continued, "Well, that, or I'm immortal." She shrugged and admitted, "I've been living under the assumption of the former. You look like shit, Sirius. What happened? Was Blondie telling the truth? Did you go to the Azkabans? I really hope not, 'cause I wanted to be the first to break out. You've crushed my dreams!"

Yeah, he definitely had a headache coming on. Patiently, Sirius informed her, "Yes, I was. Twelve years."

The woman became much more somber and said, "Merlin, Sirius, why didn't you say something? Shit, that ruined the mood." With a sigh, she told him sternly, "Look, normally, I'd force you to tell me every little detail right now, because, knowing you, O Wise One, you've managed to tell nobody anything and are unsuccessfully trying to cope on your own. However, we are obviously on a tight schedule, so I'll interrogate you later." On reflection, she looked well. Well, as well as he supposed one could be when locked in a dungeon for fifteen years or so. She seemed to notice him looking at her, and she grumbled, "Yes, I know. I'm as pale as a vampire and have hair down to my ass, but not even Narcissa would let me near scissors."

"I wonder why," Sirius muttered under his breath.

The woman squawked in indignation and, standing up suddenly, pointed at Sirius accusingly and shouted, "I, Dorcas Meadowes, challenge you to a duel, you blackguard, for impugning my honor!" Sirius, for his part, just ignored her as she continued, "C'mon, get up and fight me like a man, you witless, bat-fowling dog!"

He turned to stare at her skeptically as she glared back with an utterly ridiculous look that he supposed was meant to be deadly purpose. Or something. After a moment, they both started laughing. Dorcas sat down next to Sirius and grinned. Honestly, Sirius said, "God, Dorcas, it's good to see you. We thought you were dead."

"Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated," she quoted nonchalantly. She seemed to be getting a proper look at him now that the requisite nonsensical greeting was finished. Dorcas frowned and mentioned bleakly, "Damn, you're thin. That from Azkaban? Merlin, I can't believe anyone would think you capable of murdering people, Sirius. Let me guess: my best-friend-forever Rufus is at fault? Or is it Our Lord of Easily Mockable Last Names?"

"The, alas, deceased, former head of the DMLE—Barty Crouch—thought it wise to lock up the only man on the scene without a trial," Sirius replied flatly. With mixed emotions, he continued, "It doesn't matter, Dorcas. What's done is done. I just want to get on with my life. If it's not too personal, though, what did you do to make Voldemort take credit for killing you? I mean, it must have been one hell of a goodbye."

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. She apparently could still tell when he was changing subjects, but she said with not some satisfaction, "Well, apparently Tommy could hear me."

Sirius chuckled. "Man, you actually started singing a rock opera at Voldemort?" he asked, even though he completely believed her. "That's a damn sight more brave than anything I've ever done."

Dorcas shrugged and said good-naturedly, "I doubt it, Sirius, but I had to go through most of the album to get him to try to kill me. Man, the look on his face when he realized I wasn't dead was priceless. Betcha James'll find it hilarious. Speaking of which, where is Captain Solo? I see we are missing the Wookie, too. What's up with that?" Sirius's face fell. They hadn't told her. Narcissa hadn't bloody told her. His dark look obviously tipped Dorcas off to the fact that something was indeed wrong. Looking down at the ground, she murmured, "So he is dead, then. I don't know why, but I was hoping, you know, that at least James… God, I—Shit, Sirius, I'm sorry. Voldemort deserves to rot in hell, eaten by ugly-ass furies for the rest of eternity in a bucket."

Unable to stop himself, Sirius let out a nervous laugh and demanded, confused, "A bucket?"

"Yes, a bucket. Think about how uncomfortable it would be, being all buckety and such," Dorcas explained quite seriously. Wistfully, she continued, "Well, at least we have each other. That's got to count for something, doesn't it?" Sirius hoped his expression didn't betray anything, but he was apparently not as good an actor as he hoped, because she rolled her eyes and declared, "For God's sake, you S.O.B., I do not find you attractive. We have gone over this. Besides, I had to check to see if you were still pining after your lovely lady friend."

Sirius began to protest: "I did not—"

"Do not deny it! You know it to be true!" Dorcas interjected imperiously. She grinned and admitted, "I'm glad at least something's going right. About bloody time you and her got together. So, when'd you two start dating? Shortly after I 'died' or was it in the past year?"

Why in the name of all that was good was he sitting in a basement hallway with Dorcas Meadowes and discussing his love life? Why? He hoped he wasn't giving Dorcas any reason to tease him, judging by her Cheshire cat grin, he was probably blushing again. Damn his genetics. Sirius corrected her, "Actually, I'd been going out with her since the fall of '79, almost proposed, too. I was going to, but, uh, shit happened."

Dorcas was staring at him, quite stunned. "You wanted to marry her?" she repeated. "For real? Merlin, Sirius, that's horrible. When were you planning on asking? Halloween?" Inferring his answer from the silence, she declared, "Damn it, you have the absolute worst luck! In other, most-likely likewise depressing news, as he tends to be so, how's Remus?"

Sirius smiled. Dorcas could seem like a hurricane with attention deficit disorder, but the truth was a bit simpler. She had always been able to read moods and adjust conversation topics accordingly. Hence why McGonagall could never make heads or tails of anything the two of them worked on together (she had learned early on to separate James and Sirius if she knew what was good for everyone involved). "He's good. Well, for Remus. 'Dora's making a move on him," Sirius reported, glad to be on a less difficult subject.

Dorcas slowly raised an eyebrow and decided, "I must have heard that wrong. Remus John Lupin, Depressed Werewolf Extraordinaire, doing well? Being hit on by girl—Wait, you mean 'Dora as in your cousin Andy's daughter? She who is thirteen years younger than us? The half-pint's making a move on him? I don't know whether to be glad or slightly disturbed."

"Hey, she's head over heels for him, and they're at least seventh cousins, so I don't care as long as they don't," Sirius replied. "Well, Remus is going to use the age difference as an excuse to end any theoretical relationship, but I have the feeling Tonks'll hit him with a frying pan and drag him off to her flat if he even suggests that."

"Hm," Dorcas agreed. The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Dorcas asked, "So, is there any particular reason that we're sitting in the Malfoys' basement talking about things we could discuss later? Or can we blow this joint?"

Sirius looked around the hall. He stood up and shut the door Dorcas had jumped out of then recast the ward that had been on it. Turning to Dorcas, he informed her, "Well, we aren't on a schedule, but I believe this conversation is best held in another locale. For example, the Hog's Head, where they have alcohol. I think this place might be cleaner, but that may just be my personal opinion."

Dorcas seemed to think it over before replying, "I like the sound of that." Sirius helped her up and led the way out of the basement. Dorcas was admiring the furnishings as they continued down the corridors and decided to ask, "Hey, Sirius, how do you know your way around here so well? Also, why are we not running like all hell is following us?"

Sirius glared at a portrait he passed that was looking rather interested in their conversation before he rejoined the conversation, "Well, Narcissa's mum managed to convince my dad to make friends with old Abraxas so certain liaisons could be formed, and as such I was forced to attend many a boring dinner in which I was supposed to get along with Lucius. Needless to say, I feel I have many a legitimate reason for hating Lucy's guts."

Dorcas processed the information and reminded Sirius, "You forgot to explain why we aren't running like bats out of hell. Also, who's this Terry White fellow you said you were running with at the moment? I don't remember him from school or anything."

Sirius considered what to tell to her. He could either give her the whole truth about what he knew, or he could fudge over the details. He wasn't sure he felt right airing White's dirty laundry to someone White didn't know. It was up to White, after all, to decide if he wanted Dorcas to know anything. Finally, Sirius filled her in, "Narcissa invited White here because she's had a change of heart. You're probably leverage or something. She didn't exactly elucidate what she was planning to me, seeing as she made sure we started arguing early on, but I have a feeling. As to White, he's one of us. He was a Slytherin, though. I don't know if I mentioned that before, but you understand what I mean."

Dorcas turned serious again. She hadn't been an Auror for nothing, even if still no one could decipher her reports a decade on. Gideon and Fabian had been able to translate Dorcish into English, no matter what the occasion. Sirius wasn't quite so gifted (he could understand her, but not everyone always understood his explanation). "Do you trust him?" she asked.

"Yeah. I don't know why, but I do," Sirius informed her, wondering if he should have admitted he wasn't so sure about White. "Don't get me wrong, I like the guy. He's done some things I don't particularly approve of, but he isn't a bad man. Fuck, you should see him around his kids. If anyone ever threatened to lay a hand on them… Put simply, I pity the fool."

Dorcas nodded and presumably started strategizing. First thing Sirius did after dropping White at St. Mungo's was to drag Dorcas off to either Grimmauld, in order to arrange a meeting with Dumbledore and keep her under the radar, or Hogwarts, where she could hide herself suitably in the Room of Requirement. It wasn't like anyone used the room anyway. She would probably complain about Grimmauld and traumatize the bloody house elf even further. Sirius wasn't sure if he would inflict Dorcas _and_ his mother on Kreacher simultaneously. Even he had limits. Besides, Hogwarts meant easy access to Dumbledore, and Dorcas got to live it up in the Room of Requirement. Sirius figured it might be best to let Dorcas decide. She might come up with a better idea.

The two of them continued along until Sirius had navigated them back to the parlor. Opening the door, he walked inside to find White and Narcissa sitting exactly where they had been when Sirius and White had first arrived. Dorcas leapt into the room, right behind him. Sirius felt that it was only polite, so he said, "Dorcas, meet Terry. Terry, Dorcas. Now we all know each other."

"I don't know Narcissa!" Dorcas protested petulantly. Sirius ignored her and noticed that White looked worse off than when he'd shown up at Sirius's office door earlier that day. Well, at least Narcissa had retained enough common sense to have a house elf get them some tea. Seeing that Sirius was glancing at White, Dorcas had decided to follow suit, which was only natural, seeing as she had never met the man before. Unexpectedly, however, she furrowed her eyebrows and might have recognized him. Dorcas seemed to be analyzing the situation again as she glanced back at Sirius with a slightly concerned look. Apparently just to placate him, Dorcas then said somewhat stiffly, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. White."

When he realized that Sirius was checking on him, White smiled hesitantly. That meant one of a number of things. Either Narcissa had gotten to him or she had actually been useful and helped him. Actually, if she had talked to White about his wife, Sirius figured that might have been a good thing. Sirius was about as useful as a swimsuit in Siberia when it came to grief. "So, what's going to happen now?" he asked his cousin.

Narcissa set her cup of tea down on a side-table and addressed him, "What is going to happen is that the three of you will leave. I will have been out of the house the entire time Mr. White was supposed to visit. No one, in fact, will have visited. The house elves will not have seen or heard anything. Assuming you recast the ward, Sirius, there will be no evidence that anyone was here. I know this isn't an airtight plan, but I prefer it to the other option."

"So do I," White put in quietly. Sirius wasn't sure what to make of him at the moment. White was allowed to behave a little eccentrically, but something seemed off. He wasn't acting like he usually did. Before, Sirius had at least been able to tell White was pretty damn upset, but now he just seemed muted. It was unnerving, to tell the truth, and Sirius didn't like it.

Just then, Sirius heard something. He turned in the direction of the sound and was about to mention it, but White beat him to it. "Narcissa, did you expect anyone to come by tonight?" he demanded, looking tense. Sirius cursed mentally. Of course. The only person who would show up at the Malfoy's unannounced was Bellatrix Lestrange. (Sirius was pretty damn sure that Narcissa had managed to chase Lucius off for the night.) Grimacing, White said with some regret, "I guess it's Plan B, then. I'm sorry, Narcissa." She smiled and shrugged before sitting back down in the chair. As White seemed reluctant to cast the stunning spell on her, Sirius cast it at Narcissa's own behest. Time was of the essence, after all.

White stood where he was for a moment, obviously feeling guilty about the present circumstances. "Come on, White; it's time to go," Sirius reminded him, grabbing White's wrist and dragging him through the door. Dorcas shut the parlor door behind them. "Follow me," Sirius ordered, and they quickly left the house through the back door.

All three continued running until they had made it to the woods on the north side of the property. There was about a five-minute run between them and the edge of the woods, so Sirius figured that it was a good a time as any to regroup and come up with a plan. Turning to White, who was looking with a worried expression in the direction of the house, Sirius asked, "Do you think you're up to apparating?" White didn't seem to hear him, so Sirius repeated himself, "White! Pay attention. Do you think you can apparate?"

Coming back down to earth, White turned to look at him and replied a little unsurely, "Yeah… Yeah, I think so. Trust me, I've done it under much more stressful circumstances." He glanced over at Dorcas nervously before adding, "I don't think you'd want me to apparate with her, though. I've never been too good at that."

"Dorcas, you ever master wandless apparition?" Sirius asked her. She stared back at him with a no-nonsense look on her face, so he said, "Fine, then. I guess you're coming with me. White, let's meet at, I don't know, the Leaky Cauldron in fifteen minutes. It's public enough that no one would dare try anything. Agreed?"

White nodded distractedly and apparated away. Sirius turned to Dorcas and was about to suggest that they follow suit, but she was smiling at the space where White had been. "I'm glad to see that he's doing all right," she admitted. "Are you sure you don't recognize him, Sirius?"

"No, I don't," Sirius replied frankly. He didn't know how to feel about Dorcas's expression. She seemed concerned that he did not recognize White as someone else. With a grimace, he asked, "Dorcas, is it really that obvious, who he is? I know he looks familiar, but I don't—" He cut himself off and decided he did need to fill her in on the situation a little more. Carefully, Sirius informed her, "There's a reason he's not saying anything, so I've not asked him for his real name. With what he's involved in, I'm sure I'm better off not knowing."

"So you've thought about it, then?" Dorcas questioned tentatively. Maybe it was the result of some self-defense mechanism, but Sirius honestly had no clue what she was suggesting. When he didn't reply, she answered her own question, "Right, of course you have. So, you haven't come to a conclusion? Don't worry about it; I'm probably wrong." She sighed and, determined to change the subject, resumed, "Well, we'd better get going. Wouldn't want Lestrange or some flunky to catch us."

Sirius nodded and apparated them away. They actually ended up in Hogsmeade, much to Dorcas's surprise, but Sirius knew she remembered that while apparation was officially untraceable, it wasn't. So, per what they had learned in the Aurors, Dorcas and Sirius then apparated to the middle of nowhere, Wales, before landing somewhere in London and taking the Underground to the Leaky Cauldron with Dorcas glaring at him for the entire ride. It wasn't his fault she had slipped into that pond in Wales almost immediately after apparating. Fine, so Sirius was a little rusty. Leave him alone.

* * *

Terry had been sitting in the booth at the Leaky Cauldron for the past fifteen minutes. Unsurprisingly, Sirius and Dorcas had yet to appear. Knowing their illustrious track record, they were probably on one of their excellent adventures in the Underground. Speaking of Dorcas, Terry's life was turning out to be completely and utterly hellish this week. He almost couldn't think of a time he would rather not be in. Almost. He might as well do a recap. Let's see: Bellatrix had almost killed his wife, Snape figured it out, Narcissa figured it out, Dorcas was back _and_ had figured it out… There was nothing at all that could make the week worse. Unless, of course, Voldemort won the war, which would suck. Majorly.

He groaned and went back to contemplating the firewhisky in front of him. To be honest, he probably wouldn't do more than that. Contemplating the firewhisky, that is. Terry wasn't sure what to do. They had just left Narcissa alone to be found by Bellatrix, which he had to admit probably wouldn't result in anything, but he was still worried. Shit. He shouldn't have accepted that invitation, and he shouldn't have taken Sirius with him.

Oh, God, what was he going to do? Dorcas had to have told Sirius. She must have. She was far too forthright and loyal not to tell him. God, Sirius was going to be so angry. He was never going to hear the end of it, and he deserved it. What kind of man did something like that? The best part: he couldn't even admit to himself what he'd done.

On the bright side, at least Narcissa didn't seem too angry with him, and Severus had been only mildly annoyed for a few minutes. And Dorcas… Well, it remained to be seen how Dorcas would react. The woman had been locked in Narcissa's basement for a decade and a half, so there was no telling what her mental state was going to be like. She might be fine with it all, or she might have a reaction similar to the one he expected from Sirius.

Speaking of whom, Sirius was never going to forgive him. He wasn't. It just wasn't going to happen, so the best course of action was to pretend no one knew and to keep up the act until the war was over. That way, at least Voldemort would be dead before Sirius went nuclear on Terry.

He knew what the real problem was, though. He had kept the two parts of his life so separate from one another that he didn't know how to reintegrate them. He couldn't just be Terry White anymore. He couldn't pretend he had no past and only define himself by what had happened after he left the UK. He couldn't talk to Severus anymore without remembering Severus had tutored him for the first five years of school. He had to keep in mind that this wasn't the first time Narcissa had covered for him or spun some alibi. He had to remember that Dorcas had always said he would have made a great doctor, even if he was more darkly inclined. Finally, he had no clue what to say to Sirius the next time he saw him, which should have been five minutes ago.

The fact remained, though, that Terry was two people. He was Terry White: CIA operative, husband of Vesta, father of Leo and Macha, the guy everyone unloaded paperwork on at the office, general pushover, and occasional neat freak. But, he had once been a teenaged Death Eater, onetime guitarist, general nonconformist, friend to Severus Snape and Barty Crouch, Jr. (the loon), casual acquaintance of one Dorcas Meadowes, and… And, he was Sirius Black's idiot little brother, who had been too soft to take a stand for himself and what he believed in until it had been too late.

There. He'd admitted it. He didn't really feel much better, though. Well, it was only a matter of time. God, how was he going to explain this to the kids? Actually, he could see Leo taking it rather well. Macha, not so much. She might never forgive him. Gemma would probably accept it and move on with her life (until, of course, she realized Terry had always called her his niece because she was, but then she would be upset with Sirius and not him). Actually, he felt a bit better now that he thought about it.

He decided that it was probably best to keep referring to himself as Terry. He had fifteen years worth of reinforcement, and if he kept thinking he was only Terry, then he'd be less likely to slip up in front of anyone, Order or Death Eater. God forbid he say something in front of Voldemort. Bellatrix, she would keep his identity secret for a while if only for her own sick amusement, but Voldemort would know Terry was hiding even more. So. Besides, he had been much more impulsive when he was younger, and he did not need that right now.

Terry was thankfully distracted before he started considering metaphysics and gave himself a migraine. Dorcas and his brother had suddenly appeared, looking like they'd been through a war zone. Was he really surprised? No. "What the fuck happened to you two?" he asked lightly, starting to wonder how they could have been allowed in the Underground looking like that.

Sitting down at the table, Sirius glared at Dorcas and replied, "She pushed me into a storm drain on the way here." That explained why half of his trench coat was covered in slush, but not why Dorcas was drenched. Terry resisted the urge to cast a drying charm on her.

Dorcas immediately protested, "Well, he apparated me into a pond! He deserved it!"

"I suppose that's fair?" Terry essayed. For the first time, he wondered why they hadn't just split up for the night. There was nothing else that really needed to be said. Dorcas was a bit of a problem, but Terry figured that Sirius was just going to go ask Dumbledore what to do with her. He hoped they wouldn't house her in Grimmauld. That was just too much to put on Kreacher. The poor house elf had been through enough.

Sirius, probably realizing that Dorcas was still drenched because she currently couldn't cast magic, took the time to cast a drying charm on her. She looked irritated but refrained from complaining. "So, White, what did Narcissa decide?" Sirius asked, trying not to comment about Dorcas as she stared at the firewhisky bottle like a man who had been stranded in a desert for years would stare at the ocean.

"I don't think that's a proper discussion topic right now. You never know who's listening. However, she does seem to sympathize, and her actions have backed up her words," Terry replied, pushing his drink over to Dorcas, who immediately knocked it back. Directing his next comment at her, he suggested, "Don't you think you should take it easy?"

Annoyed, she stared at him and slowly and deliberately said, "I haven't had a glass of firewhisky in fifteen years. You are not allowed to speak." At that, she called over a waiter and ordered what was hopefully dinner for all of them. Downing another glass of firewhisky, Dorcas asked the other two, "Now that that's out of the way, do either of you have any clue about what's going to happen now? I mean, great, Narcissa's not antagonistic, but could you tell me what the hell's going on with the war? We're out of the basement now."

It took Terry a moment to realize that she really meant that they weren't in a basement and hadn't used a euphemism. Taking a deep breath, Terry spoke up first, "Well, what do you want to know? Why it isn't over yet or what everyone's doing to try to get there?" Dorcas sent him a look that very plainly communicated her feelings on the matter. "Okay, then. Well, Pettigrew brought Voldemort back to life, and the Ministry's running around like a headless chicken trying to catch everyone that broke out of Azkaban a couple of months back," Terry explained.

Sirius added, "The Order reformed, Dorcas. We are taking this seriously." Terry vaguely wondered if Sirius wasn't going to add anything else. He had a feeling that Dorcas would join them on the hunt for the horcruxes if only to prevent her from having to hide away. She would go mad if she had to do that. If Dorcas ended up deciding to hell with it and shout from the rooftops that she was still alive, then she'd probably try to get her job back. However, the chances of her succeeding after reapplying to be an Auror were minimal, so Dorcas would help with the horcrux hunt. If for no other reason, she could help by pulling Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat, unless Potter had already done so.

Dorcas was staring at the two men like they were incredibly unhelpful, which was indeed true. Shaking her head, she declared, "Fine. Be that way. Since you've decided to censor yourselves in terms of actually useful things, I guess the only option left to me is to interrogate you about your personal lives." Grinning sweetly and turning to Sirius, she said, "So, do tell." Terry was trying very hard to stifle a laugh. Sirius was trapped in a corner with no way out. He looked absolutely horrified that Dorcas had turned her attention on to him.

"What do you mean? I brought you up to speed an hour ago," Sirius complained, looking to Terry for some backup, which he wasn't going to get. Terry didn't feel _that_ guilty about the past fifteen years. Realizing Terry wasn't going to do anything, Sirius muttered, "Traitor," before telling Dorcas, "Look, there's really nothing going on in my life right now that's in any way interesting. White's far more interesting, trust me."

Swayed by the suggestion, Dorcas turned to Terry, who then mentioned in retaliation, "If my situation is interesting, it's because I am currently a nervous wreck. Did Sirius mention, by the way, that my wife's in critical condition at St. Mungo's? Yes, so I'm trying not to think about that right now, because if I do, I'm liable to go hunt down Bellatrix Lestrange and attempt to murder her. Therefore, I think it would be wiser to interrogate the Marauder."

Sirius immediately seemed rather guilty for trying to dodge Dorcas's question. Terry figured saying that card had been a bit unfair, but if someone had to talk to Dorcas, it was going to be Sirius. Terry hadn't been lying, after all; he really didn't want to think at all at the moment. Quick to distract everyone, Sirius informed Dorcas, "I'm working at Hogwarts."

Dorcas stared at him in disbelief. She continued to do so as their food arrived, and she waited a little bit longer to say, "I beg your pardon? I couldn't have heard that right. You, Sirius Black, source of chaos and havoc, are teaching children." She looked around in horror and demanded, "Where are the other Horsepersons of the Apocalypse?"

"It is true," Terry vouched, "but, no, I neither know what Dumbledore was on nor where to get it." Figuring Dorcas might remain confused and ask more questions, Terry explained, "The Ministry's starting to get paranoid again, and Fudge is afraid the headmaster's after his job, so they started passing these educational decrees or whatever the correct terminology is." Sirius had better appreciate that Terry was saving his ass. Terry figured that Sirius and Artemesia were still trying to work things out. She probably hadn't said anything about Gemma yet, which would be typical.

Terry continued, "As far as I can tell, it's a good thing Sirius took the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. Otherwise, the students would be taught by the Minister's Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge. Fudge still managed to sneak her into Hogwarts by passing another decree to create a position called the Hogwarts High Inquisitor."

Sirius rolled his eyes and picked up the explanation from there. "You see, she's conducting overviews of the faculty. Umbridge gives out 'Inquisitorial detentions' instead of normal ones and conducts them. I've heard she gives preferential treatment to the sycophants, but most of the children absolutely despise her," Sirius clarified. After a moment, he seemed to remember something particularly egregious and added, "That, and she took away Quidditch because she heard that the students were planning a revolt."

"If they weren't before, then they certainly would now," Terry remarked.

Dorcas laughed and commented, "Trust you two to consider that a cardinal sin." However, she admitted, "That said, I would have been rather irritated had that happened when we were in school. It's definitely revolt-worthy. Might've even merited war paint. Camouflage would have been a must. What are the kids planning?"

Terry and Sirius shared a look before the younger man answered, "Does it matter?"

"Not particularly. Just wondering," Dorcas replied and decided it was high time she started eating. She seemed very hungry for fried food, but Terry wasn't sure it was such a good idea for her to eat so much of it. He'd had some experience in that department (he hadn't been allowed French fries for what seemed like a year after his supposed death).

"Dorcas, did you order blood pudding, too?" Sirius asked, somewhat disturbed by the concept. He had never really liked the stuff, and a connected anecdote went a long way in explaining why Bellatrix kind of wanted to kill him. Aside, of course, from all her other reasons. "That's disgusting!" he exclaimed, "How the hell do you eat that?"

"Look on the bright side. It's not haggis," Terry reminded him encouragingly.

Dorcas paused in devouring her dinner and said quite calmly to Sirius, "And I think rat meat in rancid, but we all have our little tics, now don't we?"

"Rat meat is rancid, but I'd rather eat it than _that_," Sirius countered. Looking down at what Dorcas had ordered for him, he pushed the plate away and said, "I'm not so sure I'm all that hungry anymore." It wasn't that Dorcas had ordered likewise bizarre meals for Sirius or Terry, who was slowly eating his fish and chips, but Terry doubted Sirius was really up for eating the amount of food Dorcas had ordered for him. He was still recovering from Azkaban, probably, and Terry had heard about Sirius's grand adventure in the cave last year.

"Well, you have a taste for raw fish, so I don't think you've a right to talk," Dorcas likewise riposted. "At least Ter here likes his fish cooked—yes, I know I ordered for you, but could you be quiet for once? Thank you." Terry was in all honestly surprised that Dorcas not only remembered his current name but had also decided to use it, albeit in a shortened form.

"Don't drag me into this," Terry protested, wishing he had ordered a new drink. He didn't particularly think firewhisky went well with fried fish, but Dorcas had absconded with the bottle anyway. Maybe he should say something to Sirius, though, about the food. He needed to eat, even if it wasn't much. "Hey, Sirius, you sure you aren't going to eat any of that?"

"No, I probably will, just not until Dorcas finishes her food," Sirius replied distractedly. He was not particularly paying attention to what was going on around him, and Terry wondered what was he was thinking. Finally, Sirius asked Dorcas, "What do you think you're going to do now that you're free?"

"Eat, drink, and be merry?" Dorcas replied, unsure. Frowning, she admitted, "I don't know. It's been fifteen years. I've no clue what's happening, I haven't practiced any magic, and I'm not even sure anyone would believe I'm really not dead aside from you two. What's there to do? I have a snowball's chance in hell of getting my old job back." A thought struck her, and she realized, "That's why you're at Hogwarts, isn't it, Sirius?"

"I'm a security risk, apparently," Sirius confirmed bitterly. "You'd have a better chance at convincing the Ministry, though. After all, your allegiance is beyond question."

Dorcas protested, "But I was locked in the Malfoy's basement for years. You were only…" She set her jaw and said definitively, "Well, the Ministry's full of idiots, and they may not be worthy of having either of us back." To Terry, Dorcas continued conversationally, "Speaking of Ministry flunkies, aren't you government?"

"I work for a different government, even if it's not too much different in its behavior," Terry informed her. "Push comes to shove, though, and they'll admit that they want certain nigh-immortal madmen to stay here and be dead, preferably."

Dorcas raised an eyebrow and inquired, "What do you mean, immortal? Old Moldy-Shorts can't be killed by normal means?" Instead of looking disheartened, Dorcas looked pensive before deciding, "Hm. That's interesting. Makes sense, too. I always wondered why he looked like the noseless offspring of a snake and an old-school comic-book villain."

Sirius turned to look at Dorcas in mild disbelief and muttered, "I knew no good would ever come of letting you near my comic books…"

"I dunno. Her description's kind of accurate, when you think about it," Terry mused.

"White, please, don't encourage her," Sirius begged of him.

Terry considered remaining silent, but he turned to Dorcas and asked, "So, who does that make Bellatrix?" Glancing at his brother, Terry saw Sirius shake his head and grin. At that point, Terry realized Sirius probably would forgive him, and rather easily at that, even if Terry would be constantly reminded about the entire debacle for the rest of his life. Then again, Regulus Black expected nothing less.

* * *

_**Notes**: Sorry about the late update. Things got hectic, and I didn't get a chance until this week to type up the edits for this chapter. Also, next update is at the end of September or the beginning of October. Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review if you've the time or inclination._

**_Coming Soon_**_: A conversation at St. Mungo's, Dorcas is left to her own devices, and Gemma mopes.  
_


	31. Comfortably Numb

Sitting next to Vesta's beside, Artemesia watched as Diana herded the children away to scavenge for some dinner. The visit had gone better than she had expected. Macha's reaction had been healthy, even if Leo and Gemma were behaving far too much like their fathers for their own good. (_Thank you, Terry, for teaching the children the secret Black family art of How to Repress Your Emotions, because it worked _so well_ for you and Sirius_.) Sometimes Artemesia wondered how long it had taken Terry to realize that she, Vesta's cousin, was in fact the Artemesia he had known from school. Knowing him, he probably hadn't realized until they had met in person. It would honestly figure.

"Artemesia? Where's Terry?" Vesta asked quietly. Artemesia turned to face her. Quite frankly, she didn't know the answer to the question. Gemma had passed on the incredibly sketchy message her uncle had left, that he apparently "had to go do something," which was no help at all. Artemesia had gone to find Sirius, only to find him missing as well, so she'd asked Snape what was going on. Snape, being his bright, cheerful, and incredibly helpful self, had only mentioned something about Narcissa Malfoy before slamming the door to his office in her face.

The good news was that Vesta had not been injured as badly as Artemesia had initially believed. From the way Terry had reacted, Artemesia had expected something on the level of what typically happened to him. Unfortunately Vesta had been injured severely, and, as a result, she was going to be bedridden for quite some time. According to one of the medwizards, Vesta had been hit once or twice with the Cruciatus, but she was going to be fine. The doctor said she was lucky. It took a very long time to successfully develop a resistance to the Cruciatus, which could be the only reason why Terry could recover as quickly as he did from the spell. Speaking of whom, Artemesia was going to slap that man the next time she saw him. He had it coming; he really did. "He was called somewhere," Artemesia finally replied, hoping her answer wasn't too evasive. "I'm near positive Sirius is with him, and I highly doubt he would let Terry do anything stupid."

"Hopefully, you mean," Vesta corrected her with a wry smile. Taking a breath, she mentioned, "Terry won't go seek revenge, Artemesia. He's not like that." With a faint laugh, Vesta corrected herself, "Actually, he is, but he knows better." Suddenly looking much more upset all of a sudden, she murmured, "He better come back in one piece. I'll kill him if he doesn't. I swear, Arty. If he goes off and…"

Artemesia took the ensuing silence as her cue to think of a far less depressing topic to talk about. She could not think of barely anything. It wasn't like she could start discussing what happened that morning in class, much less what had happened the night before that had caused her to think there might be light at the end of the tunnel. Artemesia was unaware that she looked guilty about it, but apparently she did, because Vesta asked her, out of the blue, "How are things between you and Sirius?"

Of course, the reason she asked the question may have just been that Vesta really did not want to talk about her current situation or that her husband was AWOL with his idiot of an older brother. Apparently the idiot older brother wasn't off limits, though. Damn. "They're fine," Artemesia replied hesitantly. Hopefully, Vesta wasn't going to push the topic, although Artemesia would not put it past her. It was probably better that the two of them talk about something approaching happy, on the other hand. "We're doing fine. Nothing to report." Vesta's condition wasn't going to stop Artemesia from trying to dodge the question, however.

"Right," Vesta said evenly. She was not buying it, then. Smiling a little, Vesta suggested, "So you two are back together? I'm glad. Now hurry up and marry him so I can start making snide comments about how much Peter and Gemma are like their father without you wanting to throw something at my husband." Her smile was far warmer by the time she finished.

Artemesia made an attempt to deny the statement but could only could twitch a little and look irritated. She shouldn't get angry with her cousin; Vesta was in the hospital, and her husband was off in parts unknown. Artemesia really shouldn't become indignant and deny all the accusations vehemently. Alas, she did not have the same level of self-control she wished she had and blurted out, "I do not throw things at Terry because he's about as intelligent as a sponge!"

"No, I suppose not," Vesta replied with some amusement. She seemed happier discussing a topic other than her injuries. Well, Artemesia supposed that made sense, even if she would have preferred that they talk about a subject that had nothing to do with her love life or her children and especially not both. Vesta resumed with a good deal of interest, "Arty, how are things going, anyway? You were dodging the question."

Artemesia looked off to the side. If she were to tell the truth, everything was kind of going her way. Sirius… his feelings didn't seem to have changed much in the past fourteen years. It was good news, but she had no right to feel happy with Vesta like this. "We're fine," she repeated, deciding not to elaborate. "There's nothing more to say, Vesta."

"So he finally admitted he still wanted to be with you?" Vesta guessed with a smile. Artemesia knew this time that she had to be doing something that gave her away, because Vesta continued, "Of course, he did. It was completely obvious he was still in love with you. I do hope that you didn't shut him out."

"What do you mean, it was obvious that he…?" Artemesia started, slightly confused. When on earth had Vesta run into Sirius? There couldn't have been any time that all three of them had been together in one area. Artemesia would have remembered. And promptly flipped out, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Vesta couldn't have made that observation.

Vesta apparently was aware of the fact that Artemesia was a little bit confused and informed her, "The headmaster sent him to explain the differences in the two school systems, et cetera. It may have just been a formality, but there is always a chance that there was some ulterior motive to sending him, from what I've heard about your colleagues. However, it was pretty damn obvious he wanted to see you." Vesta was clearly enjoying the fact she was completely flustering her cousin and continued, "Granted, he didn't say much at all, but he blushes about _everything_. I mean, I only said you were out when I answered the door. He's rather adorable when he's all embarrassed and confused. It took him about half a minute to recover and explain why he was there. Reminded me of Peter, except your son would have probably been flabbergasted for at least a minute or two."

Artemesia did agree with that, even if she was not going to admit it out loud. Peter had managed to turn out altogether too much like Sirius for his own good, but Artemesia liked to believe her son was far more well-adjusted than his father had been at his age. Or currently was, for that matter. "Sirius is not going to react well to that," Artemesia muttered distractedly.

Vesta stared at her. "You still haven't told him?" she asked impassively. It was clear that she was concerned, though. Artemesia knew that she should have told Sirius everything after the boggart incident, but she hadn't been able to bring it up in conversation. Granted, he hadn't made it all that easy to broach the subject, seeing as he had been avoiding her for a while, but she could have just cornered him in his office. Knowing him, Sirius was probably under the impression that Gemma wasn't his daughter, because he was just that kind of idiot. Again, his guilt complex was probably what was acting up. That or his tendency to convince himself that he wasn't worth anything. "Artemesia, you have to tell him," Vesta said with concern. "He deserves to know, especially if you two are trying to work things out. Plus, I'm sure he would at least try to be a good father. He seems like a good man, Artemesia, and if his brother's anything to go by…"

"I know. It—it's not that," Artemesia murmured. She had full confidence in Sirius, but his reaction to the news was another matter entirely. He did not react well to change, and this information would likely provoke an extreme reaction, good or bad. She would be very pleased were Sirius to react well, because he needed some more joy in his life, but she was afraid of what he might do were he to react poorly. Artemesia didn't trust Sirius to not blame himself for offenses real and imagined.

Vesta was frowning in concern. "Artemesia, it'll be all right," she reassured her before she continued pensively, "You don't think he'll overreact, do you? About Aunt Hera's ultimatum?"

Artemesia blanched. She hadn't even considered that. Of course Sirius would be angry with Artemesia's mother because of it, especially considering how his family had treated him. He wouldn't forgive and forget, not at all. Hesitantly, Artemesia replied, "Oh, he'll understand. I mean, the decision made sense at the time. I had to complete my education, and I simply didn't have the time or the money to take care of two children properly. Mum was right. Besides, it wasn't like I didn't see Peter and Gemma every day for the first couple of years." Not that she believed a word of that herself…

"Artemesia, don't sell yourself short! You've been a great mother to those two," Vesta protested. She had always believed that Artemesia's mother should have been a little more understanding, although Artemesia had a theory that Vesta had felt that way was that her roommate/patient/idiot-of-a-future-husband had been quite indignant about the whole affair. "After you finished school, Uncle Ares was completely willing to give you a generous allowance from the family vault!" Vesta rethought what she had said and amended, "Of course, I wouldn't have accepted it either with the addendum about bringing those two up as proper Whites." With something of a grin, she admitted, "I still want to see the look on his face when he finds out who your children's father is. Uncle Ares is going to be apologizing till the end of time for that one."

"I always figured Mum pressured him into it, anyway," Artemesia replied pensively. It wasn't a lie. Her uncle was the most cooled out in their entire family. Hence why when he went on a business trip to Australia, he just decided to stay there and not go back to the States. Quitting his job, he started a surf shack and had never been happier. "He never cared much about most of the family traditions; he married Aunt Aphrodite, after all." And spawned Hermes, but that was another matter entirely.

"True," Vesta agreed with a small laugh before wincing from the pain. She reassured Artemesia, "Don't worry. I'm fine." With a sigh, Vesta continued, "Artemesia, I know this isn't the best time to mention this, but Mom told me Aunt Hera was considering trying to adopt Peter formally. She probably started thinking about it once Sirius cleared his name." She doesn't want him suing for custody. I supposed.

Artemesia looked down. It all came back to that, didn't it? Her mother had always disapproved of Sirius simply because of his family. Of course, when Artemesia had brought him home to meet her family at Christmas in 1980, Hera had instantly taken to him. That said, Hera was likewise under the impression that the—her words—"rather nice" young man she met was a completely different entity from Sirius Orion Black, whose only purpose on earth was to defile her only daughter, who was, of course, incredibly foolish and naïve. Artemesia coincidentally was not particularly on good terms with her mother anymore, especially because of the whole "Guess what Mom? I'm having the illegitimate children of my convict fiancé!" thing. Victor, Artemesia's father, had been far more sympathetic and had prevented Hera from legally transferring custody of the children from Artemesia from the start. Even so, Hera had refused to speak to her daughter for a year after the children were born. "There's no reason for Mum to be able to do that," she finally murmured, looking back up at Vesta. "What's Dad doing about it? And it's not like Peter wouldn't have a say… He—he's not the one that wants it to happen, is he? I mean, I haven't visited as much as usual this year, but that's not enough to make me a bad mother, is it?"

Vesta smiled sadly and said, "No, Artemesia, it's not Peter. He's blissfully unaware, as usual, but I do hope that you tell him and his sister sooner or later that their father is in fact alive and well. Not to mention, you two are head over heels for each other. Speaking of which—" It seemed like Vesta was going to continue, but she suddenly stopped and smiled broadly. Artemesia turned to see who was there.

"Hey, love," Terry said softly, standing off to the side. To be frank, he looked like he'd been through hell, and Artemesia wasn't sure she wanted to know why. On the bright side, at least he seemed to have managed to avoid a run-in with the Death Eaters. Artemesia noticed that Sirius was standing out in the hallway, obviously not wanting to intrude.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here," Terry continued earnestly, standing by the edge of her bed. "I—it's been a long day…"

Artemesia stood and gave Terry her chair. He took it and continued to apologize to Vesta for a great many things, not all of which were relevant to the current situation. It struck her how fragile he seemed. Every other time she had seen him injured, he never looked like this. Vesta reassured Terry, cupping his face with her hand, and continued to tell him everything was all right. She became progressively concerned as Terry continued to chastise himself, and she tried her best to convince him she was fine. He obviously wasn't really saying what was bothering him, and Vesta told him he shouldn't blame himself. Terry, while occasionally as emotionally dimwitted as his brother, wasn't completely above having an emotional breakdown in public, and so Artemesia wasn't too surprised he was crying.

Now feeling like she was intruding, Artemesia walked back to the door to leave the two of them alone. When she made to close the door, Sirius practically jumped out of her way. He had been in something of a daze, watching Terry. Artemesia wondered if he had any clue at all. Knowing Sirius, it was doubtful. Something had broken inside of him when he had lost his brother (not to say Sirius hadn't been affected by James's death; he was just doing his damnedest to avoid thinking about his best friend), and Artemesia knew that he would not be able to fathom the thought of losing him again. As a consequence, Sirius would keep himself from recognizing his little brother no matter how much Terry slipped.

With a melancholic smile, Sirius mentioned, "I can't believe White had been able to hold himself together at all tonight. You should have seen him at Narcissa's, 'Sia. He was—is—so bloody depressed… I mean, granted, it wasn't like he was having a nervous breakdown or anything, but he—Not even—nothing seemed to cheer him up at all."

Artemesia wasn't sure of what to say. That said, Sirius was rather oblivious, considering that was essentially how he dealt with everything, but he did seem to be troubled. Artemesia wasn't so sure he was troubled about the fact that Terry was indeed on the verge of a breakdown or in the middle of one. Artemesia had trouble telling the difference with him. Granted, if Sirius knew Terry was Regulus, then he would have been worried about his little brother, but Sirius didn't know. Finally, Artemesia said pointedly, "He blames himself, Sirius. I'm sure you understand that."

With a faint laugh, Sirius agreed, "You've got that right," before becoming solemn again. It looked like he wanted to say something but didn't quite know the right way to say it. Artemesia had a feeling he could actually be straightforward about his feelings for once. With reluctance, Sirius asked, " 'Sia, you—you'll be all right, won't you?" He quickly clarified, "I mean, I know you wouldn't put yourself in a situation—not that your cousin did—where you could…" Looking distraught, he paused for a moment before he begged softly, "Please take care of yourself, 'Sia. I don't know what I'd do if…" He looked down and off to the side, mentally cursing himself for even mentioning it.

Artemesia sighed. Sirius could be so frustrating sometimes. Making eye contact, Artemesia promised, "Sirius, you don't have to worry about me." She wished he didn't look so scared. "I'll be fine. It's not like I ever really leave Hogwarts much, anyway." Quietly, she continued, "And, well, why would I be a target? Few people know about us, and I doubt that _all_ the Death Eaters are _that_ abysmally stupid. Dad did work for the government. The point is, Sirius, you don't have to worry about me. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself." Making sure he was paying attention, Artemesia said, "I love you, and I am damn well not going to lose you ever again."

Sirius looked surprised, probably because Artemesia told him she loved him in public. They had hidden their relationship as best they could during the first war. James and Lily had known, mostly because they could wheedle any information out of Sirius. Others had suspected, of course, like Remus and Auriga. Abruptly, Sirius seemed to snap out of his daze and swore, " 'Sia, I'm never going to run away again. I promise."

"I know," she replied, glancing at Vesta and Terry though the still-open door. Artemesia considered saying more, but by the time she turned to continue, Sirius was gone. With a sigh, Artemesia left to find Diana and the children.

* * *

Dorcas was depressed: Reggie's pseudo-bachelor pad failed at life. Of course, she wasn't supposed to be calling him Reggie anymore, but he was more of a Reggie, so she wasn't going to listen. Dorcas pondered what name he possibly could have chosen for himself that would be shortened to "Terry." It was probably some star or constellation because he was just that subtle. Both he and his brother were so subtle, they were completely obvious.

Back to the point: Reggie's flat was dull. There was absolutely nothing to do. Dorcas would have preferred to be locked in some random room in Hogwarts, but no such luck. Apparently she couldn't be trusted to refrain from running rampant through the castle. Also, both brothers had considered locking her in Grimmauld Place. Dorcas did not approve. She remembered many a story about that house and was slightly disturbed those two had even considered the possibility. Then again, it might have even been better than being stuck in Reggie's incredibly boring flat. At least she knew where Sirius kept his alcohol.

Reggie's filing system was a bit less organized than it used to be. She had already found no less than three socks randomly lying around the floor in his room. Three! Back in the day, he only used to have a pair of socks lying around. They would have matched, too. Oh, never mind. Dorcas found the other sock. It was halfway under his bed.

That was something that didn't make much sense. This apartment seemed to only be a good size for single living. It may have been a pseudo-bachelor pad, but didn't Reggie have a significant other? Sirius mentioned something about a lady? Ah, yes. Reggie had a wife. How cute. What was with her? Right, she was in the hospital. Dorcas would have to avoid bringing that up. Reggie was sensitive about things like that. Well, Sirius was, too, but he was more likely to keep everything to himself and eventually go catatonic. Reggie was better at that communication thing everyone said was important. (Dorcas was very good at the communication thing, so good that most people asked her to stop doing so.)

Actually, to be serious, Dorcas was slightly worried about the two brothers. Yes, one was presumed dead, and the other had been in Azkaban eons, but they had a lot more issues than she thought they would. Obviously, Regulus now had double his old guilt problems, and Sirius was back with his low self-esteem complex. She had considered it slightly irritating back in their school days, but Dorcas figured that now they really needed to get their acts together. Sirius was falling apart, but Reggie seemed to be just barely holding on.

The two of them had deposited her at the younger's apartment and gone off to the hospital, leaving Dorcas to her own devices. Reggie seemed really broken up about what had happened. Dorcas wondered how long he had been married. Last she had heard, he had been painfully single and severely lacking in a social life. However, Dorcas did vaguely remember Sirius joking that Regulus had a crush on one of the younger medwitches at St. Mungo's.

Well, that prompted another look-over of Reggie's apartment, and this time Dorcas was searching for some evidence of his wife's existence in it instead of booze. Dorcas began in the kitchenette. There were a good number of instant noodle packages on the counter and a couple bowls and spoons in the sink. Upon further inquiry, she discovered that he had stocked up on instant soup as well as frozen pizza. There was some sort of residue in the refrigerator that Dorcas believed had once been a green, leafy, and photosynthetic organism, but it was a little difficult to tell. There was also a carton of cheese labeled "milk." However, there were many cans of soft drinks and a sore lack of alcohol. (Granted, Regulus had the alcohol tolerance of a rabbit, so the last made sense.)

Dorcas found nothing else of interest in the kitchen area save where Reggie kept the silverware and the dishes. As she had expected, those had been meticulously organized. He had been notorious for needing everything to be ordered back in school. It was probably why he hadn't made many friends in Slytherin. He had been friends with many a Ravenclaw, though. Whatever the case, Dorcas now had a choice to make: either she tossed the main space of the flat or rummaged through his bedroom. The main section was kind of boring. There was only the television and the futon, really. Sure, there was a coffee table with some coffee-stained magazines on it and a small bookshelf near the window, but the room was pretty sparse.

To the bedroom it was.

The bedroom was still rather Spartan, like the rest of the flat, but it looked more as if someone actually lived there. The bed was unmade, and the duvet was half on the floor like the rest of the sheets and the extra blankets. Dorcas felt that it might have been a little over the top to have that many layers, but Reggie had a tendency to feel cold much more easily than she did, so one only could speculate as to why he hadn't felt the need to turn on the heating. As Dorcas had noticed prior, there were three socks scattered across the floor. Two were actually a pair, now that she stopped to look at them, and the sock-mate of the floor-sock was wedged between the duvet and the sheets. There was a briefcase leaning against the nightstand, on which were only a lamp and an alarm clock. After a brief glance in the closet, which was full of formal clothes like suits and things, Dorcas decided there was nothing in there to see. The chest of drawers was rather boring, too, but then Dorcas had the bright idea of rummaging through the drawers to see if Reggie had in fact not become more inventive in his hiding places. He really was a creature of habit.

As expected, Dorcas hit the mother lode. Fancy that. He still hid his passport in his sock drawer. There were two passports, actually, which didn't really surprise her either. When Sirius had made his brief reintroduction, he had mentioned that Reggie had moved to America, hadn't he? Well, it would make sense, seeing as Reggie had a legit American passport right there with his British one. Dorcas paused for a moment before she took another look at the passports. Now, this didn't make sense! The British passport had been renewed after Reggie had supposedly died, and it had his real name on it. 'Course, he probably shouldn't have been hiding it in the underwear drawer, either, but that was irrelevant.

Unfortunately, Dorcas still hadn't found any sort of evidence that he was married, just that Reggie was in fact Reggie. He wasn't being very subtle, especially not around Sirius, but he didn't really need to be all that subtle in front of Sirius. However, Dorcas supposed that she shouldn't give Reggie a hard time about it, since it did seem to kind of be killing him to lie to Sirius like that. That likewise made her wonder if Reggie had been sworn to secrecy or something, because any fear he would have about Sirius flipping out would not have kept him from flat-out telling his brother the truth by this point.

After replacing the passports where she found them, Dorcas wondered where else Reggie could have hidden things. He didn't tend to put anything in the other drawers. At that point, an idea struck Dorcas. Hoping she could still pull off the spell without a wand, Dorcas murmured, "_Finite incantatum_," at the top of the piece of furniture. Nothing happened. A little annoyed, Dorcas shrugged and turned to leave the room. She then noticed, however, that the bedside table did now have two photographs on it. One Dorcas recognized as what she had been searching for. The other photograph was of four children. She picked it up and realized two of the kids bore an overwhelming resemblance to Reggie and his wife. Dorcas decided that it was rather amusing that little Reggie Black was all grown up, married with children.

With a grin, Dorcas set the picture back down and knocked over another photograph. That was decidedly odd. She hadn't noticed that one. Oddly enough, she couldn't locate it again, so Dorcas attempted as best she could to cast countercharms for some common transfiguration, illusion, etc., spells. Now able to see the photograph, she picked it up and examined at it. The grin slid off of her face. Regulus was an expert at making himself feel guilty. Dorcas sighed.

She knew the photo immediately. She had taken it, after all. Sirius and Regulus were standing near the lake at Hogwarts in the spring of '76. Dorcas didn't think she'd seen the two of them that happy since. Sirius had gone into a depression near the end of fifth year because of that random falling out with the other three Marauders, and Regulus had been mostly moody or sullen for the rest of his time in Hogwarts for one reason or another. Suddenly feeling like she was intruding, Dorcas set the photograph down and exited the room.

Sitting down on the couch, Dorcas turned the television on and searched for a decent program to watch. Some time had passed, and she was still unable to find anything suitably interesting. About to get up again and rifle through the apartment once more, Dorcas made the wise decision to remain seated as Regulus entered his flat, quietly shutting the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, just staring at the state of the apartment, before asking tiredly, "Dorcas, did you apply your treatment of the kitchen to my bedroom?" Reggie seemed like he was about to fall asleep on his feet.

Dorcas felt badly because she had rummaged through his things and so decided that she would be courteous and take the futon instead of the bed. "Just a little," she replied honestly. She hadn't left the bedroom in disarray; she'd just undone a lot of spells he probably was not in the mood to fix. "And the kitchen is better off. On a related note, why do you have cheese in a milk carton?"

Reggie stared blankly at her before pausing to think about the question. "You mean I haven't thrown that out yet?" he said, mostly to himself. He seemed a little horrified by the idea he had neglected to toss the milk out. Sitting down on the futon next to Dorcas, he waited for a while before he asked, "Why haven't you interrogated me yet? Usually you would have said something by now."

Dorcas pretended she didn't hear him and asked instead, "How's your wife?"

Reggie looked slightly taken aback that Dorcas had even broached the topic, but he relaxed and replied dismally, "She's fine. They said she will have to remain in the hospital for some time, but she's out of the danger zone for now." At that, Dorcas wondered if he had finished his healer training. Reggie had been so enthusiastic about it for years. In any case, the war had taken a heavy toll on him. He just looked so sad. "It's good news."

Dorcas made a noncommittal sound and nodded. No, he had gone into other fields, probably. No sane person would ever willingly let Reggie near sharp, pointy objects or combustibles, especially if he knew something integral to the war effort. "I'm glad," she replied sincerely. Dorcas knew this probably wasn't the best time to be interrogating him, what with his current emotional state, but it was likewise probably the only time that she could ask him anything. Hesitantly, Dorcas inquired, "Regulus, why haven't you told Sirius yet, about everything?" She knew she shouldn't be asking him the question, but she felt the need to continue, "Reggie, he's been living with the guilt of thinking he was responsible for your 'death' for the past fifteen years. Do you know what that did to him? It almost killed him!"

Very quietly, Regulus replied, "I know." He was looking down at his hands, refusing to meet Dorcas's gaze. "You don't think I don't know that?" he continued, "I—I was going to tell him, that next February, but…" He looked away, grimacing. Dorcas wondered why he was always so intent on making sure no one needed to pay attention to his feelings. She was sure it was different when he was around family, but she had never seen him show any deep, negative emotion in public. Yes, back in school, he had become angry occasionally, but Dorcas knew his reaction was far more muted than how he felt. She just looked at his brother in comparison. Sounding depressed and slightly frantic, Reggie continued, "I want to tell him, but I can't! He's not going to react well, and I'm not allowed to tell him, but the longer I refrain from telling him the truth, the worse it's going to be!"

Dorcas sighed. Well, that certainly complicated things. Reggie had managed to convince himself that he was in a lose-lose situation. He had also managed to convince himself that Sirius would not be glad to hear that his brother was alive and well. Dorcas still could clearly remember avoiding St. Mungo's when Sirius had been in there for his little experiment with the Veritaserum. It had been too painful for her to visit her friend more than once. Trying to be sensitive, Dorcas reminded him, "Reggie, it would be better if you told him instead of if he were told by someone else, like Bellatrix for example." Dorcas wondered why he flinched when she said his cousin's name. Well, she did remember the reports, but…

Expression hard, he growled, "She doesn't know, so it doesn't matter. He doesn't have to know." Dorcas refrained from making an exasperated sound. This was just great. Obviously, both brothers were in what she liked to refer to as Egypt. The Black family in general seemed to vacation there quite often. She wouldn't be surprised if Sirius's current permanent residence were there. Regretting that he had snapped at her, Regulus sighed and, in the manner he usually adopted, apologized, "Look, Dorcas, it's not that I don't know that, and I know that he has a right to know, but please can we stop talking about this? I have it under control. Really."

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. "You have this under control?" she inquired. Regulus was barely able to take care of himself, let alone keep a secret this massive from anyone whatsoever. Hell, she remembered the time he had managed to catch pneumonia because he simply failed to remember to wear his cloak around at school. Actually, on further reflection, that might have been Sirius, because he had had that odd habit of forgoing winter clothing until the temperature dipped blow five degrees Celsius. "How are you so sure that Bellatrix doesn't know? I mean, you're still a Death Eater, aren't you?" Dorcas demanded. To hell with subtlety. He wasn't cooperating. "Sooner or later, someone who you want to keep in the dark is going to recognize you, and you're going to pay for it, Regulus. _In spades_."

Stiff, Regulus informed her with a steely voice, "She doesn't recognize me, Dorcas. If she had, I would not be here right now." The color drained from his face, and he continued a little shakily, "I'd be in that bloody room, and she'd be there, and I just… I can't bloody stand the pain, and she… then…" He stayed silent, staring at the floor with a slightly terrified look on his face. Dorcas remained quiet as he tried to regain control of his emotions. More composed, he murmured, "I'd be a dead man. Nothing and no one could help me."

Dorcas was about to ask what exactly he meant by that, but in a flash she understood. Of course. The way he reacted when Bellatrix mentioned, the fact he practically had to talk himself into believing Bellatrix knew nothing, all the evasions. It all made sense. Dorcas laid a hand on his shoulder reassuringly and asked gently, "She did all of it to you, didn't she? That nasty scar on your throat, everything?" She felt the need to apologize and said softly, "I'm sorry, Reg. I'm so sorry… You shouldn't have had to go through all of that."

"Sorry doesn't bloody cut it, Dorcas," he snapped, standing abruptly. Coldly, he informed her, "I'm going to sleep. There's a blanket and an extra pillow under the futon, but I suppose you already knew that. Goodnight." Regulus then left, slamming the door to his room behind him.

Sighing, Dorcas retrieved said blankets and pillow from under the futon and haphazardly made her bed. She could worry about this in the morning. She just hoped that Regulus would have decided to forgive her by then.

* * *

Gemma was curled up in an alcove on the fifth floor. She did not want to talk to anyone. Her mum had tried to stop her from running off, but Gemma had narrowly escaped and hid. Vega had somehow left the Gryffindor common room and found her in the alcove, so now the cat was the captive of a very depressed thirteen-year-old, who was hiding from her mother and generally trying to make herself invisible. Thus far, her plan seemed to be working.

Of course, it was just her luck that once she thought that, she was caught. Well, maybe not, Gemma reflected as she scooted further into the alcove. Maybe the professor wouldn't notice her. She tended to be lucky in that respect. Gemma credited it to her amazing sense of direction and acting skills, both of which Luna seemed to think were nonexistent.

Vega was clawing Gemma and generally making a scene as Gemma further tried to hide. She listened as the footsteps sounded closer and closer, still hoping she would remain unnoticed. If McGonagall caught her, Gemma would be in for the chastisement of her life and then be promptly sent to her mother. If Snape caught her, she would be doomed to clean the potions classroom with only her toothbrush and some bleach—if she were lucky. On the other hand, Flitwick and Sprout would let her off easy. That said, none of the teachers were supposed to be patrolling that hallway for another couple of hours. It was then that Gemma noticed that the steps had slowed down.

She sighed in resignation. Her mother had obviously found her. Great. Now she would have to endure being told that everything would be okay and nothing was anyone's fault. Gemma didn't understand how she could be expected to believe that. Her uncle certainly looked as if he felt guilty. Her mother would still be all depressed and confused as to why she wasn't as distraught as she thought she should be. Gemma curled up around the cat, who was not particularly happy with the development, even if Vega did continue to purr.

It wasn't really fair. Why had Aunt Vesta been hurt? Gemma's mother was refusing to say what had happened aside from the fact that there had been an accident of some sort. It sounded like the only thing that could have happened was a Death Eater attack or something of that nature. But why would the Death Eaters have attacked her aunt? It wasn't like she was doing anything that wasn't neutral in terms of the war. Sure, Uncle Terry was generally clear about his views on pretty much everything, but idle talk was no reason…

Gemma remembered the discussion that her uncle had had with Draco Malfoy's father at Platform 9 ¾ before the start of term. Her uncle had been very vague about a great many things, but he had implied that he believed in the Death Eater's credo, which made no sense. Her uncle was a half-blood, like Aunt Vesta, so there was no reason for him to support the lackeys of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But… her uncle _had_ been acting strangely lately, and judging by the fact that he had been apologizing like nothing else to her aunt when Gemma had wandered back to the room in order to find her mother, he might have been involved in something dangerous.

Gemma couldn't even consider the possibility that her uncle was a Death Eater.

It didn't make any sense, for one. Also, he was one of the least violent people she knew. He rarely lost his temper, and he was always so kind to everyone. Gemma just couldn't see him in the black robes and white mask. Sure, he had a penchant for the color black and long-sleeved shirts, but Gemma had always figured that was because of his scars from the car accident from when he was in college.

But, what if he was a Death Eater? What if Uncle Terry was a cold-blooded murderer? What if he was and had tortured and killed people just because of their genetics or their belief in equality? What if the only reason he had been apologizing to Aunt Vesta was because he was disappointed his wife hadn't died? Or was the reason he was even in the UK—Gemma halted her trail of thought. Uncle Terry worked for the government. Neither Macha nor Leo knew what he did for a living aside from lots and lots of paperwork he frequently complained about. But, if—if that were true, then he was in a lot of danger, and he… and he was still at fault for what happened to Aunt Vesta.

Gemma tried to get the thought out of her head and buried her face in her cat, pretending that the reason Vega was slightly damp was because of the walls. She was too old to be crying like this. She shouldn't use her cat as a tissue, either, but Gemma couldn't particularly bring herself to care. She wanted an explanation, but she didn't want to go and face her mother at the moment, not when she had snuck out of her dorm and hidden in some random corridor in order to avoid her mother.

"Are you all right?"

The voice was deeper than the one Gemma had expected. She remembered there had been someone approaching, but she had completely forgotten. Gemma looked up and wondered how long her professor had been standing there. Professor Black looked unusually concerned for her. He also looked upset, by what Gemma didn't know, but he seemed to have something on his mind. Or, well—Wait. Had she been sobbing? Oh, Gemma would never live it down if she had been sobbing. Sure, she could explain away tears, but if she had been audibly crying, there was no way she was going to get out of this without telling the truth.

"I'm fine," Gemma answered, her reply muffled by the cat as she spoke into it. Professor Black looked no less concerned. Gemma wondered what exactly was going through his mind. He probably wasn't very good with children, she decided, but he was going to try to help anyway to score points with her mother.

"I don't believe you," he said placidly. Gemma grimaced into her cat. She was not going to talk to him. Her professor sat down next to her in the alcove. With a slightly melancholy smile, he asked, "Now, really, what's wrong?"

Gemma did not want to answer him. She doubted his motives, and she would rather be sobbing into her cat. Plus, he would probably go and inform her mother of her whereabouts and relay everything she said. Finally, Gemma decided to throw him off the trail and murmured, "Aunt Vesta almost died."

Professor Black looked off to the side before mentioning, "You weren't as upset at the hospital, Miss White." He had paused before saying her name. Gemma wondered why. It wasn't like he had any reason to use her first name, anyway, even if she had warned him about going after Pettigrew in her first year. (Why had she let Luna convince her to stay up late that night and talk to him? Was she insane or something?)

"It doesn't matter," Gemma replied sullenly, retreating behind Vega again. Professor Black tried not to smile at her poor evasion tactics, but he had no right to talk. There was something bothering him, too. His mood seemed to be going downhill as the conversation wore on. Had something else happened tonight, or was he worried about her mum? Gemma did not want him to be worried about her mum, because then she was right to worry about her mum, and Gemma did not want to worry about her mum getting hurt in addition to her aunt being in the hospital and her uncle being a cold-blooded killer.

Professor Black did not seem to be buying it. Gemma mentally cursed. "Does this have to do with White—your …uncle?" her teacher asked hesitantly. "He's fine, you know. There was just some business he had to take care of tonight. You know that you don't have to worry about him. He can take care of himself." Gemma did not think he sounded too convincing. Professor Black didn't seem to believe his own words, either.

"I'm sure he can," Gemma replied shortly, forgetting that she probably shouldn't imply her uncle wasn't in danger from the Death Eaters in front of an ex-Auror.

Professor Black's face went blank, and he stared at her in silence for a moment. Hesitantly, he asked, "Gemma, you don't think your uncle's a Death Eater, do you?" For some odd reason, he again looked very concerned. Even Gemma's cynical had to admit her professor didn't need to try to be this helpful. When Gemma refused to answer, her professor sighed and patiently informed her, "He isn't one of them. Trust me; he hates everything they stand for and especially the one they fight for. I've been around him long enough to realize that."

"Then why doesn't he say anything?" Gemma demanded angrily. She knew she shouldn't lose her temper in front of Professor Black, but he was the only other person around, and he was the only one willing to answer her questions. "Why doesn't he tell me or Macha or Leo that he's not? Uncle Terry's bloody damn well implied that he is!"

Her professor looked out the window, remembering something particularly painful. Turning back to Gemma, he replied, "Do you remember when I mentioned my brother?" Gemma nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. "Well, I knew he was a Death Eater, and he knew I was pretty damn sure he was one, but neither of us said anything, because if he told me, then I would have had to arrest him," her professor continued. "However, in your uncle's case, he can't say he isn't, because then they would know he has no intention of working for them, and they would execute him as a spy." Her professor looked out through the window again when he said the last, unable to look her in the eye as he told her that her uncle could be ruthlessly murdered.

Gemma was irritated and confused. Why was Professor Black being so vague? Yes, he was answering her questions, but he could have been a bit clearer. Also, it didn't help that he had recanted and admitted her uncle was a Death Eater, even if he was a spy. Her uncle obviously had delusions of grandeur. Acidly, Gemma demanded, "Professor, why do you care?"

He smiled sadly and replied, "It's complicated, Gemma." Indignant, Gemma was about to demand what exactly he meant, but she stopped herself as his expression became less and less cheerful. What had happened to make him so prone to depression? Gemma felt incredibly stupid shortly after she thought that. The man had spent more than a decade in Azkaban. There, he had been forced to think about every little thing that had ever gone wrong in his life. Of course he would be easily depressed. Then again, for that explanation to work, he must have had a troubled past. Gemma was saved from further speculation as her professor explained, "I made many—too many—mistakes when I was younger, and I can only attempt to redress them now. I misjudged Reggie, and it cost him his life. While the situation with your uncle is different, trust me when I tell you do not want to write him off. Later, you may come to regret every harsh word."

Gemma glared at him. "You don't know anything about me!" she accused angrily, finally letting her cat down. "My mum told you to find me, and you're only here because you don't want to piss her off and because I'm so pathetic! Well, you know what? I don't want your help!" Her professor said nothing, so Gemma continued, "I can take care of myself damn well, so just shove off and leave me alone!" He showed no signs of moving, so Gemma exclaimed, "I can deal with it! I can handle the fact that my aunt's in the hospital and my uncle's a Death Eater and my mother's boyfriend is a complete pain in the ass!"

"Gemma…" her professor started, concerned. Why wasn't he leaving? Why?

"Go away!" she shouted, refusing to look at him and instead stared out the window. She felt his hand on her shoulder reassuringly and reluctantly turned to glare at him as he repeated her name, still concerned. There wasn't any reason for him to give a damn! There wasn't!

"It'll be all right," he told her, trying to be comforting. Unfortunately, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Gemma started crying and couldn't stop. She did not want to cry in front of him again. (He was too nice, and her mother would eventually drive him away like she had managed with all her other boyfriends. Gemma couldn't allow herself to get attached.) "You'll see, it'll be all right," he repeated soothingly after she started sobbing yet again into his shirt.

This time, he didn't take her back to her mother. He let her cry on his shoulder and yell at him, and he stayed. He stayed, and he waited for her to calm down.

Some time later, when she felt better, he walked her back to her common room. With a smile, he excused himself and left. After he left, Gemma wondered if that was how it felt to have a father.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Dorcas critiques Regulus's coffee and has an interesting conversation with Tonks.  
_


	32. I Never Told You What I Did For A Living

Terry was in a bad mood as he made coffee that morning. He should not have overreacted the night before. Dorcas didn't know what she was talking about. She couldn't have known. Yes, he had been angry when he realized she had completely rearranged his flat and undid every single spell he had cast in his room, but that had not been a legitimate reason for him to behave as he had.

Hence why he was making her coffee. He felt the need to make a peace offering; he did not want her to pry more. Terry would give her a very brief overview about what had happened in the past decade, but he was not going to let her ferret out every single one of his secrets, especially with… Fine, Terry was still vexed that Dorcas had decided she knew why he was unwilling to talk about the torture he had been subjected to at the hands of Bellatrix. He just didn't want to talk about it, end of story, and he did not want to know what Dorcas's theory was. She was probably completely off the mark.

Terry steadied himself against the counter. Who was he kidding? Dorcas was either right or completely off the reservation. With the way she had been acting, Terry was willing to bet that the former was indeed true. He really didn't need this to think about now. It was too much. He could ignore what Bellatrix had done to him and keep it locked away in the back of his mind, but if Dorcas kept on with her questions, he wasn't sure if he could hold himself together. He could deal with the horcruxes, and he could deal with the endless lies, but he couldn't manage all three. Something would give, and neither of the two options was particularly desirable.

With a sigh, Terry resumed waiting for the coffee to be ready. He realized he actually didn't have anything to go along with the coffee aside from instant soup and ramen. Well, he had been eating out frequently, and his coworkers always made sure they dragged him out to lunch. His secretary wouldn't let him skip breakfast, and whenever he was with Vesta, she shoved groceries at him. Terry bit his lip. Goddamn it! He shouldn't have let her come with him. He hadn't been able to stop her, but he still felt like it was his fault. If he had just stayed out of the war, then she wouldn't have been in the position to be hurt, but if he had remained away from Britain, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. He would have been deserting his duty. Terry slammed his hand on the counter in frustration.

Terry noted with some detachment that he had cut his hand on a knife he had neglected to put away. The cut wasn't too deep, and there wasn't too much blood. Such a strange thing to fight a war over, blood. He continued to watch it in vague fascination before he was brought back to reality by Dorcas exclaiming, "Oh, my God!" He turned sharply to see her staring at him in horror. "It was an accident, Dorcas," Terry informed her calmly before casting an elementary healing spell on his hand. "Just an accident."

"That's what they all say!" Dorcas exclaimed, rushing over. She immediately snatched up the knife and stared at him reprovingly. Ignoring her look, he washed the blood off of his hand and informed her, "The coffee's for you. I don't have any sugar to go with it, but if you want to brave the milk, go ahead." Dorcas was staring at him with suspicion. He was trying to lead her off subject, it was true, but he hadn't meant to injure himself, so her line of questioning would simply be irritating. "Can I have the knife back?" he asked her. "It has blood all over it."

Reluctantly, Dorcas handed the knife back over and proceeded critically to watch him wash the blood off. Despite the fact that she was incredibly irritated with him, she absentmindedly poured a cup of coffee and started drinking. The silence on her part unnerved Terry, who started doing the dishes for lack of anything better to do. He did not want to be the one to begin the conversation. By the time he finished, Dorcas had drunk all of her coffee and seemed to have made up her mind about what to say. "Reggie, I'm sorry about what I said last night. I shouldn't have pried," Dorcas apologized. Terry really wished she would stop calling him by that nickname. Noticing his discomfort, Dorcas cocked her head to the side and asked, "You don't want me to call you that, do you?"

"I'd prefer you didn't," Terry admitted, feeling guilty. He couldn't let anything lull him into a false sense of security. He couldn't become complacent, because he couldn't slip in front of Voldemort or Bella or one of the other loyal Death Eaters. In response to the first question, Terry replied sheepishly, "And, Dorcas? Don't worry. I… I behaved inappropriately. You were just concerned about my welfare, and I acted like a complete cad."

With some hesitation, Dorcas smiled and reassured him, "R—Terry, it's okay. Really. I'm the one that crossed the line, not you. I shouldn't have brought up—"

"It's fine," Terry said, cutting her off. He knew logically that she would not have told him what she suspected, but he couldn't take the emotional risk. With a sigh, he made himself stop thinking about it and informed Dorcas with some embarrassment, "Look, I, uh, have to work today. You know, work? Where one goes to an office and talks to people and does lots and lots of paperwork? Well, I have a meeting at the Ministry, and I figure it's probably prudent to take you with me if I don't want to come back to find you've redecorated my flat in Gryffindor colors. Will you please keep a low profile?"

The cogs were turning in Dorcas's head. Her eyes widened and she acquired a truly horrifying grin on her face before she exclaimed, "I can come with you to the Ministry?" Terry started to rethink his decision as the ex-Auror bounced around the room, chirping something or other about marijuana or Rufus Scrimgeour. Terry wasn't sure. Either way, Dorcas's reaction was not exactly inspiring.

Terry was about to go over and try to calm her down, but Dorcas stopped abruptly in the middle of the room and walked back over to the kitchen area. Looking inquiringly at him, Dorcas demanded, "What are you doing at the Ministry? I mean, I'm not complaining, but who in the world are you going to meet with? On a related note, can we drop in on the Aurors? I want to see Mad-Eye." Terry's immediate feeling of dread must have shown through, because Dorcas then said, "Oh, come on, Reg, he's not going to chase you through the Ministry exclaiming about Death Eaters infiltrating the government and such."

Nervous, Terry corrected, "No, he'll just AK me."

Dorcas opened her mouth to protest but shut it. She tried again, but still nothing happened. Finally, she admitted, "Okay, I'll concede you that, but—Actually, I don't think Mad Eye uses the Unforgivables. Well, I guess you'd get a cutting curse in the face."

Terry said flatly, "No. It still wouldn't look good for my meeting with the Minister if I showed up and bled all over the furniture."

Dorcas nodded in agreement until his words registered. She blinked before turning to look at him skeptically and carefully repeated, "You have a meeting with the Minister of Magic?" Terry nodded slowly. "Why do you have a meeting with the Minister of Magic?" Dorcas asked, honestly confused.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Terry realized she didn't know what he did for a living. "Oh, well, I'm the temporary aide to the U.S. ambassador. After the war's over, Ambassador Lafayette will reappoint her real aide. Well, the job will go back to Steward regardless, but here's to hoping I make it through the war." Seeing the disapproving look on Dorcas's face, Terry hurriedly added, "In any case, I have a meeting with Fudge because of what happened with Vesta. It's probably to make sure the ambassador isn't intent on raising hell, particularly in the media, and possibly getting Fudge kicked out of office, although I'd really like to try to do that."

"You're a vengeful, vengeful man, Regulus Black," Dorcas informed him wry.

With a grin, he shrugged and said, "Well, I do try." The grin slid from his face. It was true, though, wasn't it? He had actually been happy when he had heard that Barty had killed his own father, if only because that bastard had sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial, not to mention every single grievance that Barty had ever had with his father. Terry didn't like that he felt that way. He didn't want to be vindictive and spiteful. He knew he wasn't a good man, but he would rather not be reminded of it.

Dorcas frowned at him. "Re—Terry, stop it," she said, catching herself before she said his real name. At least she was trying to remember. "I recognize that look, so just stop it. I was joking," Dorcas informed him definitively. Sighing exasperatedly, she continued, "Between you and Sirius, I'm surprised I'm still sane."

"When were you sane?" Terry asked halfheartedly. Well, damn. Keeping up appearances with Dorcas was much more difficult than he had anticipated. Of course, she had always been able to throw him off balance. At least she wasn't randomly going to show up at his door anymore, intent on dragging him off to a club so he had something resembling a social life. He had had a social life, too. It's just that he made sure she didn't find out it. As if his first year of university hadn't been hard enough…

"Yes, Mr. White—By the way, r_eally_? Was that the best you could come up with?—I am completely and totally sane," Dorcas replied with mock irritation. She glanced down at her cup of coffee and grimaced. Coming to a decision, Dorcas announced, "Terry, we are going to go out for breakfast, and we are going to order _real_ food with _real_ drinks. This coffee sucks."

Terry admitted, "You are right. It's not Turkish or gourmet or anything, but at least it's not burnt." He paused for a moment and, noting Dorcas's patented Look of Disbelief, conceded, "So it is shitty, but I've not exactly had the time to go buy decent coffee from Fortnum and Mason or even Tesco."

"You haven't had time to go to Tesco."

Terry looked off to the side. He explained, "I've been busy, so I've not—"

His friend twitched violently. "No coffee. Food now."

Dorcas looked slightly disturbed, so Terry just smiled and nodded. "I'll go get properly dressed, then," he informed her and, possibly in a very unwise move, left her in the kitchen.

When he reentered the main room of the flat a couple minutes later, straightening his tie, Terry was glad to see Dorcas hadn't done anything drastic. She was, however, staring at him in horror, and he hoped she didn't drop the mug she was holding. It would break, and coffee would spill all over the floor. Granted, he could just clean it up and repair the mug with magic, but he would have rather not have to. He had never been good at fixing things. "Are you ready to go?" he asked slowly, trying not to startle her with sudden movements.

"You are in a suit and tie," Dorcas stated, dazed and confused. "When did you become all proper-like, Reg? I thought you were a punk back in the day," she said, apparently fascinated because he was wearing a suit and tie like one would expect of a government official about to meet with a head of state. "I feel underdressed," Dorcas decided. "I feel the need to be dressed like James Bond."

"I'm not transfiguring your clothes so you look like James Bond, Dorcas," Terry informed her, wondering why he put up with her behavior. However, he wasn't about to let her ransack his flat again in order to find proper clothes to wear that were in her definition of proper.

However, Terry did eventually concede that Dorcas should wear something more formal than the pair of jeans and equally random t-shirt she had inevitably selected from his closet. He found it slightly horrifying that a pair of his jeans weren't long enough for her. Granted, she was about as tall as Sirius, and Terry was more or less three inches shorter than his brother. In any case, he agreed to transfigure Dorcas's clothes into something halfway presentable. Terry thanked his lucky stars Dorcas didn't press looking like a secret agent, and she was perfectly happy when her clothes morphed into her old Auror uniform. Terry assumed she would be suitably ordinary looking to allow for the guards to let her past without too many questions.

One stop at a patisserie on the other side of London later, the two of them finally arrived at the Ministry, and Terry was wondering why he had decided it was such a bright idea to let Dorcas Meadowes near caffeine. On the bright side, it didn't look like Terry was going to be late for the meeting, but he did not want to meet with Fudge. That said, he was looking forward to shouting at Scrimgeour.

* * *

Dorcas found Regulus morbidly fascinating at times. Observing him was like watching a train wreck. She wanted to look away but couldn't. That assessment may have been a bit harsh, but he did have a tendency to swing between absurdly happy and in such a dark mood Dorcas wondered why he hadn't snapped and murdered anybody.

He was in the latter mood at the moment. Sure, he was acting fine around her, but she could tell. He was angry beyond all belief with Fudge and Scrimgeour. Dorcas had to admit that Rufus was a bit of a hard-ass and Fudge was incompetent and Fudge-like, but Reggie was misdirecting his anger. Of course, it wasn't like Reggie could actually take all his negative energy out on the responsible party. Not even Dorcas in Kangaroo-mode was mad enough to challenge Bellatrix to a duel. Sirius might try, but there was no way in hell Dorcas would do so.

Granted, Dorcas did not mind Regulus's dark mood as much as she normally would, because it was allowing them to pass through the Ministry with free rein. Nobody was apparently feeling suicidal enough to try and stop them from heading to their destination, the Minister's office. Actually, now that Dorcas thought about it, they didn't seem to be going to the Minister's office. They were heading in the vague direction of the Department of Law Enforcement.

Dorcas considered the ramifications and squeaked with joy. Regulus, for his part, ignored her. He tended to do that a lot, as did Sirius, but that was just because they were embarrassed to be seen in public with her, and, as such, she didn't really blame them.

When they finally arrived at the Department, Dorcas had to contain her excitement as Regulus led her to the Auror Division. "We get to see Moody? I get to see Moody? You don't mind that he's gonna cast a cutting charm on you?" Dorcas inquired cheerfully.

She could tell Regulus was loosing patience. He had been about to sigh but restrained himself. Grinning, Dorcas decided to redouble her efforts. There were oh-so-many ways to stop Regulus being so emotionally closed off. Most of her tactics had a tendency to cause him to get worse, but Dorcas figured any reaction from him was better than no reaction from him. Finally, they stopped in front of a random cubicle (it had belonged to Dorcas back in the day; Sirius had occupied the one across the aisle from her).

Dorcas cocked her head to the side. There was a girl with cotton candy for hair. Dorcas felt the impulse to reach out and touch it, but Regulus caught her hand before Dorcas had completed her mission objective. Bloody Slytherins, always ruining everything. "Miss?" Regulus started as if he were about to make a grave imposition. The pink-haired girl turned to him in surprise and for a moment seemed to recognize him. Dorcas would give her a medal if she did. After all, this girl was obviously a complete stranger, so it would be quite fantastic if she were to recognize Reggie before Sirius did.

"Do you happen to know where the Minister's office is?" Regulus asked, doing his best to look absolutely confused. Dorcas shot him a disbelieving look. Was that the best he could come up with? Dorcas was wearing an Auror uniform! And he obviously knew where the Minister's office was! If this was some idiotic plot to leave her in the middle of the DMLE, then Dorcas was going to be so angry with the second son of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. She would—wait. This way Dorcas could spend some quality time with Rufie instead of letting Regulus go medieval on him.

Dorcas cackled. Pink-girl stared at her with a raised eyebrow. Dorcas knew that look, but she wasn't sure from where. The girl then decided to ignore her and reply to Regulus with the information (that he already knew). The directions were surprisingly informative, especially about some prat of a redheaded secretary. Regulus thanked her for the information and said, "I'm glad that there are some people in this government that are intelligent. Here, I was starting to think everyone had a couple of screws loose. Thank you very much, Miss—actually, I don't believe I got your name?"

"The name's Tonks," the Pink-girl introduced herself with a lop-sided grin. All of a sudden, Dorcas almost recognized her. She tried to figure out what Tonks would look like with dark hair and—Tonks. "It was no trouble at all. Who did you run into before me? Usually only Ministry employees form that opinion so readily."

Tonks! Tonks, Tonks, Tonks, Tonks, Tonks! The nymphlette! The Mini-Andy!

Dorcas would have said something, but she was on an important mission. She had to find Rufie and annoy him to no end so that Regulus didn't commit premeditated murder. That could land him in Azkaban, and Dorcas didn't fancy having to inform Sirius that his little brother a) was not dead, b) had been working with him for the past couple months, and c) was in Azkaban because Dorcas didn't restrain him from killing Rufus Scrimgeour. Dorcas did not want to do that at all. Sirius had quite the temper, and Dorcas didn't trust her reaction time much these days.

"Oh, I didn't run into anyone in particular. It has just been… frustrating, to say the least, that the Ministry has behaved the way it has. The potential implications that may result from its continual refusal to accept any sort of assistance from foreign powers concerning the war with Voldemort may be dire. Britain's current isolationist tendency has thus far prevented any concerted effort with the rest of the EU, NATO, or even just Interpol to try and infiltrate the Death Eaters or defeat Voldemort," Regulus replied, obviously very annoyed. Dorcas wondered how long the political mumbo-jumbo had been going on. From her point of view, what he really meant was that he was pissed off at the British government for wrongfully locking his brother in prison for twelve years and otherwise being generally thick as a post.

"Hey, that's all well and good, but I couldn't understand half of what you were saying," Dorcas complained in an attempt to get Regulus to calm down. Again, she had no desire to tell Sirius that his little brother was in Azkaban for committing murder (although Dorcas would have been a little less disappointed that Fudge was dead as opposed to Rufie). "Can we go now?" Dorcas asked with no shortage of impatience, tapping her foot for emphasis.

Tonks blinked and stared hard at Dorcas for a moment. Her eyes widened, and Dorcas grinned as the pink-haired Auror exclaimed, "Merlin's frilly underpants! It's you!" Tonks sprang up and hugged Dorcas, who remained amused as Regulus looked vaguely embarrassed. Jumping back, Tonks declared, "Dorcas! I knew you would come back!"

"Well, you seem to be one of the few," Dorcas informed her. She had no issues grinning, especially in light of Tonks' sudden decision to recognize her, but Dorcas did in fact feel bad that Regulus's embarrassment had faded into discomfort. There was not a way for Dorcas to reassure him, though, not in the middle of the Ministry. Dorcas was well aware that exclaiming that he should stop feeling guilty about life, the universe, and everything, Black, you idiot! would not go over well with the Ministry employees or Regulus, who was probably still technically wanted. Still, Reggie did not need to go into a meeting with the Minister feeling guilty. Dorcas really wanted Reg to ream Fudge, and she knew damn well that hell had no fury like the five Black cousins, scorned or not. Dorcas still remembered how Sirius had blown a gasket one day in the middle of seventh year for no particular reason. She would liken spending time around him to spending time around a nuclear reactor.

"Dorcas, how have you been? We thought you were dead! How did you escape the Death Eaters? What have you been doing for the past fifteen years?" Tonks asked, still excited from the discovery that one of her former (admittedly teenaged and/or irresponsible) mentors was not in fact dead (or worse: respectable). Granted, when that list was limited to the cool blonde lady, the ridiculous cousin, and the slightly more responsible cousin (who was ridiculous in other, stranger ways), it was obvious that the cool blonde lady was the one Tonks would have been excited to see the most. Although, that didn't take into account how Sirius was now all _respectable_ and not in Azkaban and how Regulus was supposed to be much more dead than Dorcas had ever been. Plus, Dorcas knew there would have been troubles ahead if Tonks had not reacted well to the news that Regulus wasn't dead. He would pretend he didn't mind, but the fact that she didn't remember him would probably tear him up inside.

Dorcas was about to reply to Tonks' interrogation of doom, but Regulus cut in, "Well, since you know each other, why don't I leave Ms. Meadowes with you, Miss Tonks, so you two can catch up? I'll come back later." He smiled weakly—Dorcas doubted that Tonks noticed how Regulus was feigning a good mood, but she might not have cared even if she had—and nodded to Dorcas before excusing himself and leaving.

Tonks watched him leave and commented, "Well, he's a bit odd." Dorcas restrained herself from mentioning that what Tonks had just said was a case of the pot disparaging the kettle she had known back in the day. Frowning a little, Tonks asked Dorcas, "What's up with him? I mean, why are you hanging out with some stuffy guy who has a meeting with the Minister? Did you see that suit?"

Dorcas nodded sagely and replied, "I know; I know. I find it disturbing to see him wearing something so formal, even if suits do suit him." Looking pensive, Dorcas nodded and continued, "But, yes, you are right, my apprentice. He is quite the angst-muffin. Even more so than Sirius, no less. Anyway, Terry is here to talk to the Minister. I was surprised, because he's the absolute last person I would have thought would be talking to the Minister of Magic one day. Unless the Minister was a very specific redhead or a very specific blonde… _That_ would have been hilarious, but, alas, neither future will come to pass." Switching subjects, Dorcas asked, "So. How are you? Also: take me to the cafeteria. Or your leader. I'm not picky."

Tonks's face fell a little, and she reluctantly explained, "Dorcas, Mad-Eye retired. He doesn't even work in the office any more, and I don't think you would like to talk to Scrimgeour. He's a bit of an ass." When the nymphlette paused, Dorcas realized Tonks was collecting her thoughts and trying to figure out a way to not mention the fact that she was doing …_something_ with Remus. "That said, I've been fine," Tonks continued cheerfully. "Everything's all good."

"Glad to hear it," Dorcas decided. It was good that Sirius hadn't been exaggerating. Remus needed a little happiness in his dreary, werewolf fur-covered, generally porridgey life. (Dorcas wasn't exaggerating about the werewolf-fur. To be honest, it wasn't like he exploded fur everywhere, but every single piece of clothing Remus owned was covered in fur. They all had lived together in that apartment, so it might have been Padfoot-fur, but Dorcas _knew_. Dorcas also knew that Sirius was not to be trusted with steak knives and that Remus sleep-raided the refrigerator. That setup with the flat had been class, especially when Frank had still been living with them.) Therefore, it was only logical that Dorcas asked, "I take it that you are making progress wooing everyone's favorite bookworm with that unfortunate furry little problem?"

Tonks became flustered, like her relatives had a tendency to do when confronted with similar questions. Although, when Dorcas considered it, Sirius just tended to look vaguely horrified and clam up, and Reggie turned funny colors and stammered that he had no clue what Dorcas was talking about. Dorcas had always had so much fun teasing him. Quite indignant, Tonks demanded in a low voice, "When did Sirius deign to tell _everyone_ I have a crush on Remus?"

There were a couple ways to answer that question. One, Dorcas could tell the truth and say Sirius had just mentioned it in passing when bringing her up to date on what had happened in the past fourteen years since she had forcibly retired from the world. Two, Dorcas could make up something absolutely ridiculous and pass it off for truth. Three, Dorcas could change the subject and become more caffeinated in the process. "Say, Nymphie, it is imperative that we acquire some sustenance. I have become less than fully caffeinated, and this fact depresses me," Dorcas mentioned, very subtly leading Tonks off-subject.

Tonks raised a pink eyebrow and informed Dorcas, "I am not going to go anywhere, even to a purveyor of fine foods (or the cafeteria, which serves food-like products), until you tell me why Sirius can't keep his mouth shut." After a moment, sounding remarkably like a five-year old, Tonks added, "And don't call me Nymphie! I go by Tonks now."

Dorcas realized a way to placate the disgruntled nymphlette would be to mention that Sirius hadn't told _everyone_ but had only told Dorcas. She corrected the nymphlette, "Well, Tonks, Sirikins only told me that you were pursuing Remus in some way, so I assumed that you were pursing him in a romantic manner, since Remus kind of has a pole stuck up his bum about rules and regulations and all of that." Shrugging, Dorcas continued, "Therefore, it only makes sense to ply me with caffeine and actual food in order to acquire the full story."

Suitably placated, Tonks smiled and laughed. "I forgot how what a riot it was hanging out with you," she said. Setting aside all of her work-things at her desk (which used to belong to Dorcas), Tonks stood up and said, "Well, I guess it is imperative that I cede to your demands and take you to the cafeteria."

Dorcas nodded gravely. "Excellent decision," she replied regally, keeping up that general bearing as they made their way to the place of food until they passed some undersecretary whp thought Dorcas was indeed a dignitary, causing Tonks to fall into a fit of giggles. With a grin, Dorcas explained, "You see, Nymphie—and I shall call you that forever, because you do not have an actual reason to prevent me from calling you nicknames—this is why I babysat you so frequently."

"I thought it was because you were the one Mum preferred to ask when Sirius couldn't take time out of his busy schedule to do so," Tonks pointed out as they continued to walk through the halls. "Besides, I always thought that—" She cut herself off for some reason, and that confused Dorcas. Apparently Tonks had decided to continue, though, and told her, "Well, that was only really after Mum's other cousin stopped coming by, as rarely as he did." Tonks looked guilty about saying that for some odd reason. Then again, maybe Andromeda had been more affected by Regulus's death than Dorcas had previously believed. As far as Dorcas had been able to tell, Andromeda had barely batted an eyelash, but Dorcas, like the others, had been more concerned about Sirius at the time. "He had really cool hair," Tonks added with a little smile.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to hear that his teenage experimentations with hair-dye inspired you," Dorcas replied without any irony.

"He might've been, but Mum sure isn't," Tonks informed Dorcas with a laugh. They finally had reached the cafeteria, and Dorcas went off to procure some food as Tonks went to find a table. As they sat down to eat, Dorcas pretended not to notice that Tonks' hair was fading to a mousy brown. Dorcas immediately felt like an ass for bringing up a sensitive subject.

"Nice color," Dorcas commented blithely.

Tonks looked slightly embarassed and protested, "Well, it's your fault for making me go all nostalgic." Turning a bit red in the face and her hair back to bubblegum pink, Tonks continued, "I mean, I barely remember Sirius's brother, and I know he wasn't on the right side of the war, but he seemed like a decent enough guy. Last person you'd want your seven-year old daughter emulating, but… You know, I don't really even remember what he looked like."

Dorcas grimaced and decided not to continue on the subject. Therefore, the only verdict was distraction. Selecting an earlier topic of conversation, Dorcas resumed, "So, how about that sexy werewolf friend of ours?"

Startled, Tonks let out an undignified squawk and exclaimed, "I already told you! Those rumors are unfounded!" She decided to ravenously devour her watercress and bacon sandwich in order to end that conversation. Of course, that action only spurred Dorcas on to continue the interrogation.

"Rumors?" Dorcas asked with a tilt to her head. "I was under the impression that it was rather obvious Remus was sexy in that bookish, sexually-frustrated librarian sort of way." With a very pensive look on her face, Dorcas continued, "And while I would be willing to admit that I may no longer be his friend, although I would like to think I am, I do believe that you are his friend. And we both know the furry little problem is real, so… What part is unfounded?"

"I am not in love with Remus Lupin!"

"Ah," Dorcas said. Tonks had obviously grown into her inheritance if she was really this bad at lying. At least Dorcas could give the brothers points for effort. That said, Andromeda was ace at misleading whomever she wanted to mislead, and Narcissa just stared at you until your will broke and you slunk off in defeat. Of course, Dorcas had never been deterred that easily. No, that would take all the fun out of talking to any of them. It was like solving a puzzle that could be easily ticked off and curse you if you said anything out of line. Dorcas then suggested, "So you just want to have crazy animal sex with him?"

Tonks really turned funny colors and went silent before behaving generally like a fish and glaring at Dorcas. For her part, Dorcas took that as a yes and continued, "My God, you've really fallen for him, haven't you? Well, good luck convincing him he's worthy. Many have tried and failed to break through his chocolately shell. As to his pants, I don't know if they are—"

Tonks was still an amusing color but had recovered enough to plead, "Could we please stop talking about my love life or lack thereof?" Her embarassment fading a bit more, Tonks continued, "Please? We're in a public place, and it's kind of embarrassing. I mean, really, is it normally so impossible to speak with him? He was fine over the summer, but he's become progressively less talkative."

"Means he likes you, which means you've already broken through his chocolately shell," Dorcas explained. Reminiscing, she recalled, "He couldn't speak to Marlene properly for a month, once. Got over that right quick when she fell madly in love with Sirius, who was completely oblivious because he was mostly fascinated with Artemesia Vector." At Tonks' confused expression, Dorcas sighed and reassured her, "Don't worry. As I said, it means Remus likes you. Didn't I just tell you?"

Tonks was obviously trying to process the information and said, "No, I understand that you're saying Remus is trying to avoid talking to me because he actually likes me." Still confused, Tonks continued, "I'm trying to process what you just said about Sirius, because I really don't know how I feel about that."

Dorcas tried not to laugh. "You mean you're confused about Sirius stalking Artemesia Vector?" she asked, starting to laugh."Sure, he denies it, but he had since, oh, first year."

Tonks was now staring at Dorcas in amazement. "So, you're saying the reason Sirius is a nervous wreck nowadays has to do with Artemesia Vector as in Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher? Sirius, who always felt he was honor-bound to subvert any and all authority?" she asked, eyes wide. "Oh, that is too good to be true! Ha! Now I have leverage in the form of his pathetic excuse for a love-life!"

Dorcas winced. "I'm not sure I'd go that far, Tonks," she said carefully. "Sirius is a little touchy on the matter. And when I say 'a little,' I mean he's very, very much so." Dorcas paused, wondering how much she should say and if she should just stop while she was ahead. The latter would probably be more prudent, but since when was Dorcas prudent? "You're young, Nymphadora. You can take the incessant badgering. Sirius needs to be cut some slack."

Tonks was obviously a little shocked by the fact that Dorcas was, for lack of a better word, so serious. "It didn't end well?" Tonks asked, seemingly afraid of the answer she would receive. "Or is this another general 'don't cause Sirius to have a nervous breakdown' warning? I've gotten two from Moody, four from Remus, and six from Molly, who is honestly the last person I would expect to look out for Sirius's mental health. The two of them barely agree on how to clean a floor, much less take care of Harry."

Absentmindedly nodding, Dorcas considered what she had already dealt with today. Silly people with knives, said silly person with a view to kill, amusing pink people… Dorcas wondered why everyone always thought Dorcas was trying to prevent other people's nervous breakdowns. It was quite clear that Dorcas was launching a self-preservation mechanism. If she kept her friends from being ridiculous, then she didn't have to be serious, and that made a good day for everyone. Therefore, there was only one response to Tonks' question: "Let's just say that while a depressed Sirius is never fun, talking about Artemesia is probably like rubbing salt into a wound made from a knife to the heart, if you'll forgive the mixed metaphors."

This time, it was Tonks' turn to wince. "Oh," was her reply. "I didn't realize, although I suppose, then, there would have to be some hard feelings. Then again…" She trailed off. Dorcas studied Tonks and wondered if Remus really was trying to push her away. If he was, he was probably using the "I'm too poor, too old, too furry" speech. Dorcas needed to have a talk with that werewolf. Bringing her attention back to Tonks, Dorcas noticed that she seemed to be considering what Dorcas had said about Sirius. Finally, after ruminating a bit, Tonks asked, "Does Professor Vector know how Sirius can be? What I mean is that he's always been really sensitive about family and stuff."

Dorcas smiled and nodded. It was so heart-warming to see Tonksie so protective of her silly older cousin. "Of course she does, Tonks. Artemesia knows how Sirius gets," she explained. "You don't have to worry. She's well aware of how much she could hurt him."

"Good. 'Cause otherwise, I'd've had to go explain. And no one wants that."

Dorcas nodded in agreement. "No one wants that," she agreed solemnly, to break the dark mood. Her expression caused Tonks to laugh, and they talked of other things. Like cabbage and how inappropriate some Smarties metaphors are.

* * *

_**Notes: **I have had a shitty week and decided to just go ahead and post the next chapter to make myself feel better. The one after this will be posted on the two-year anniversary of me starting to post the story. Also, as you may have noticed, I changed my screenname from MatrixSailorStarKnightZ (circa 8th grade) to seirios aster. Yeah. Please take the time to review, and thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Comments are always appreciated._

_Oh, and does anyone have any thoughts on me changing the second character category from Prof. Vector to Regulus? You don't have to answer if you don't have the time, and thanks a bunch anyway.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Regulus argues with Scrimgeour, and Dorcas and the brothers Black discuss what to do about the horcruxes.  
_


	33. Please Just Take These Photos

As he continued to listen to Scrimgeour make excuses, Terry found it hard to concentrate. Everything was getting farther and farther out of control. He could have dealt with Narcissa knowing. He could have. It would have been fine if they had just found Dorcas and promptly sent her to Outer Mongolia. Fine, that was a little harsh, but Dorcas was a source of chaos. But maybe, just maybe, he might have been able to deal with what had happened to Vesta if he hadn't been confronted with everything else. Now, he had no idea how even to find a way to regain control of himself.

The conversation with Fudge had gone as he expected. Fudge had apologized for the lack of a warning. Apparently there had been some indication that the Death Eaters were planning what had happened. Fudge had never even considered the possibility that the Death Eaters would not limit their activities to British citizens. Yes, there was supposed to be an American security detail, but—God only knew why—Vesta had waived it and said Diana was enough protection. After all, the Death Eaters shouldn't be interested in knowing where the wife of an ambassador's aide lived. Vesta was supposed to be living with Terry. That she wasn't was supposed to be classified. But despite all the precautions, the truth had gotten out.

Terry had been careful. He hadn't made any real indication as to where Vesta had been living. For all anyone knew, they had been living together in the city. From what he knew now, Vesta may have been safer with him, but… It just shouldn't have happened. They shouldn't have been able to find her. St. Mungo's wouldn't have freely given out the information, even if the hospital had an accurate record of where Vesta was living, so the fault had to lie with the Ministry, because Terry knew that Ambassador Lafayette had instructed all of the Embassy staff to disclose no information about Terry.

And if the Ministry of Magic wasn't responsible, then the fault lay only with Terry. If that were true, then he had said something during torture, and he didn't remember it. If there weren't gaping holes in his memory, then Terry needed to improve his occlumency. Terry did not know which choice was worse. Either he was blanking out and thus needed to be taken off the mission, or Voldemort knew everything already.

Regardless, Fudge had been sycophantic in his apology or condolences or whatever because Lafayette had sent Terry to go talk instead of going herself. Fudge was just scared he had made an enemy. The only good to come of the meeting had been that Fudge had given Terry permission to discuss the security breach with Scrimgeour. Hence why Terry was currently not paying attention to the head of the Auror department in said man's office. Terry noted that Scrimgeour seemed to have finally caught on to his general lack of attention. However, Terry wasn't going to give Scrimgeour the satisfaction of knowing he was right, that Terry wasn't paying attention. Terry interrupted in a frustrated manner, "So you essentially are telling me that you have no idea how the Death Eaters knew where to find my wife?"

Scrimgeour predictably was not going to take the comment lying down and replied acidly, "Yes, Mr. White, that's exactly what I'm saying. There was no possible way the Ministry could have provided the information, and furthermore, I doubt that there was anything that the Ministry could have done. Your own security staff couldn't protect her, correct? So why should you have expected the Ministry to—"

"I expected the Ministry to have more sense for a wide variety of reasons, Scrimgeour," Terry growled. "Besides, if my wife had been at the Embassy, then we wouldn't have this problem. However, she's been living with her sister while she's been here."

Scrimgeour did not look impressed. In fact, Terry was starting to think that Scrimgeour was starting to dislike him as much as he had in the past (which had nothing to do with the fact that he had been a teenaged Death Eater with an Auror brother who despised Scrimgeour, who thus had been incidentally drenched in slime on several occasions). "There's your explanation, then, White," Scrimgeour replied through clenched teeth. The glare was only to be expected. "It's your and your wife's own fault. If you hadn't been so arrogant to think that the Death Eaters wouldn't look for you, then your wife wouldn't be in St. Mungo's now, would she?"

Terry restrained himself from jumping across the table and throttling the man, as much as he wanted to do so. Darkly, he replied, "Do not presume to know my intentions. If I'd known Vesta would have been better off at the Embassy or living with me, I would have tried to talk her out of staying with her sister." Terry was not sure how Dorcas had been able to stand this asshole for as long as she had. He continued angrily, "However, I was under the impression that she would be safer someplace not so blindingly obvious. The reason I haven't been living with her is to make sure those bloody bastards didn't track me back to her!"

Scrimgeour looked at Terry in disgust. Terry figured that the man had figured out what exactly Terry was in the fight against Voldemort, He had probably guessed that Terry was part of the Order and—worse, in Scrimgeour's opinion—a double agent. That Terry had immediately made to move his left arm off the table probably hadn't helped to alleviate Scrimgeour's suspitions. Coldly, Scrimgeour said, "White, if any subterfuge on your part resulted in the current situation, then the blame lies squarely on you and not on the Ministry in any way, shape, or form."

"I'm working for the bloody Ministry, you selfish bast—" Terry was cut off as Scrimgeour grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. In a detached sort of way, Terry supposed that Scrimgeour had a right to be pissed off at him and that he was in fact being rather unreasonable, but at that moment Terry honestly didn't give a damn.

Glaring at him, Scrimgeour growled venomously, "You, White, have no right to call me selfish. I'm not the one in the Ministry wasting the Auror Department's valuable time whining about the fact that the Death Eaters almost killed my wife." He threw Terry back into his chair. Scrimgeour scoffed and continued less confrontationally, "I get that you're pissed off and want revenge, White, but don't take it out on me. In normal circumstances, I might have been inclined to help, but this is a war. The Ministry has far more important things to worry about. Get over yourself."

Terry just looked down and off to the side. He was still angry and would have very much liked to punch Scrimgeour in the face, but it didn't seem as if that was going to happen anytime soon. The bloody bastard was right, as much as Terry didn't want to admit it. He didn't have a right to come in and yell at Scrimgeour for something that was out of his jurisdiction. That said, Ministry response time was indeed shite. And Terry was trying to rationalize starting a shouting match with Scrimgeour, who would probably win once it devolved into a fistfight. There were easier ways, he knew, to start a fight and get the shit kicked out of him.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time, then," Terry said, trying not to sound beaten. He wasn't, after all. He wasn't going to say it, but there was supposed to have been a guard for Vesta from the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries was supposed to have supplied it. Terry knew better than to ask them what had happened. The Department was already short on people, and if they hadn't subcontracted it out to the Department of Law Enforcement, then there was no reason to shout at someone who hadn't received the message. After a moment, Terry decided it would probably be intelligent to continue, "I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for. This wasn't the Ministry's fault."

Scrimgeour had a right to be suspicious, really. Terry had just presented an emotional one-eighty. For a second there, Terry noticed Scrimgeour looked a little confused, too, but Terry clamped down on any feelings of schadenfreude. Having a smug grin on his face wouldn't be conducive to maintaining a general dislike instead of all-out hatred. "It's fine, White. Completely understandable. I've seen too many people march into this office in my day demanding answers to the same questions you asked," Scrimgeour replied. Weighing the pros and cons, he hesitated before continuing, "I'm just glad I haven't had to answer the questions of anyone like Augusta Longbottom. No one envied the Director of the DMLE before Crouch. He once had to calm down the contemporary Director of the Department of Mysteries."

"He'd thought his son murdered," Terry murmured. He had heard about that. Apparently the DMLE hadn't suffered a small nuclear explosion as a result. Terry admired the man's restraint. Granted, Terry wouldn't have been too angry with his best friend, either, under the circumstances. The boy had made his own choices, after all. With a grimace, he said, "I'll show myself out, Scrimgeour," and made to leave.

Scrimgeour grabbed him by the left wrist and apparently didn't notice Terry's flinch. "Stop. I'll call someone to escort you," he ordered. Terry let himself grin wryly. Well, apparently Scrimgeour still trusted him about as far as he could throw him. As an explanation, Scrimgeour continued, not without humor, "Don't need you shouting at the DoM. Merlin knows they'd blow something up in their surprise."

Terry laughed lightly at that and stayed where he was. He would wait, even though he probably would end up asking the entire department to help him find Dorcas. God only knew where she was. He wouldn't put it past her to be snorkeling in the fountain at the entrance to the Ministry. "I'm not going to invade the DoM—I'm not _that_ stupid—but I'll follow the guard."

Scrimgeour wrote the note and sent the paper airplane off. It seemed that Scrimgeour had something he wanted to say but might have been waiting for Terry to say it. That could only mean one thing. He knew Dorcas was around. However, a returning airplane arrived promptly, and Scrimgeour moved to show Terry out. "I'm glad we came to an understanding," Scrimgeour said, carefully selecting his words.

"I'm sorry I didn't make a better first impression," Terry replied, not completely disliking the other man anymore. It was clear now that while Scrimgeour could be a complete asshole—and Terry completely expected him to go back to being one once he left the office—the man was just trying to do his job and do it well. Terry was still confused as to how the man had drawn the conclusion that Sirius was the one that had murdered him, though. Well, what was past was past.

Scrimgeour opened the door to his office and was met with a six-foot something blonde blur that shouted, "Rufie!" at the top of its lungs. Apparently Scrimgeour's reaction time was faster than Sirius's, because he sidestepped enough to cause Dorcas to just swing around him before he overbalanced and fell on his face in the doorway. Terry estimated that most of the Auror department was watching the scene develop. He also guessed that the Auror standing gobsmacked in between Tonks and the door was the Auror who was supposed to show him out.

Terry considered escaping into the ether without Dorcas, but he knew it would have been impolite just to leave her there to torment Scrimgeour. Well, he had no doubt in his mind that Sirius would have approved, but Terry wasn't too keen on making an enemy of Scrimgeour now. "I can hardly believe the number of times I've apologized to you today, Mr. Scrimgeour, but I feel I should apologize for my colleague, Ms. Meadowes," Terry began, wincing as Scrimgeour tried to escape from Dorcas's clutches and failed miserably. The rest of the Aurors were standing around, looking vaguely sheepish, and wondering if they should assist their boss. The consensus seemed to be no. Although he knew it was unwise to continue, Terry mentioned regardless, "On the bright side, sir, she seems to value you as a friend as much as she does Mr. Black. He was by no means quick enough to evade her, either."

Scrimgeour made an irritated noise but was finally able to disconnect Dorcas from himself as she promptly sat down next to him, looking particularly proud of herself, too. Terry really wondered sometimes where Dorcas found all the energy before he remembered he had left her with Tonks, who would have undoubtedly taken her to the cafeteria. There was one problem solved. "I'm glad to hear she values my 'friendship' on the same level as she values Black's," Scrimgeour grunted as he stood up and brushed himself off. "I take it then you brought her with you?" he continued, looking down at Dorcas as if she were some kind of carnivorous mold.

"She wanted to see some old friends, and I wasn't going to let her set fire to my flat," Terry replied nonchalantly, as if this sort of thing happened every day. Turning to Dorcas, who had a crazy grin on her face and seemed to be contemplating behaving like a carnivorous mold, Terry said, "Come on, Meadowes. I think it's time we were shown the way out."

"But, Terry! I haven't blown something up in the DoM yet!" Dorcas complained, immediately standing up and pouting. It was all an act, if Terry knew her at all. He damn well knew she was disappointed because she hadn't been able to find Moody and pester him, but Terry didn't think the Ministry would be willing to let her know. Besides, was it really that long to wait for the next Order of the Phoenix meeting? Because Terry looked suitably frustrated with her, Dorcas relented, "Fine. I guess I'll just have to catch up with Rufie later." With a grin, she chirped, "See you later, Rufie!" and skipped off, hopefully in the direction of the main lobby.

When everyone turned to look at Terry, he just shrugged. There wasn't really much else he could do. Terry then said a final formal goodbye to Scrimgeour before being escorted out of the DMLE and back to the Atrium. After the Auror left, Terry sighed and scanned the large room for Dorcas, who should have returned before him. When she failed to present herself after five minutes, Terry turned around to go to the reception desk and hope they could find Dorcas. However, she then presented herself. Terry stepped out of the way quickly enough to avoid being tackled to the ground.

Dorcas jumped back up and declared, "Oh, you're no fun." Terry restrained himself from hitting his head against the nearest wall. Repeatedly. It wouldn't make him feel any better, but he might have been able to concuss himself and be spared more nonsense. Thankfully, Dorcas then asked, "So, when are we going to meet up with Sirikins and talk strategy? I mean, I assume you two are going to let me in on the plan, 'cause, you know, only sets of three tend to be able to accomplish things, and there has to be the requisite girl."

"And, surprise, you're willing to fulfill the requirement?" Terry asked dubiously.

"Exactly. Have to keep with the significant numbers and all," Dorcas replied as they made their way to the phone booth exit, which was the only exit that Dorcas deemed worthy. Terry didn't protest. He didn't really like Floo Powder or Side-Along Apparition, either.

"Right. And why can't this venture that you suppose is so important remain a quest that Sirius and I go on?" Terry asked, not really wanting to know but figuring it was better to go along with Dorcas's mad ideas than contradict her.

"Because two only works under certain circumstances, and three's a much better number. Athough I suppose we could go to four, but no farther. Five's right out. We'd have to get at least seven after four, and then skip eight and head along right to nine," Dorcas mused. Seeing the look on Terry's face, she sighed exasperatedly and countered, "You know it to be true!"

Terry rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. I get the references for seven, what with you going on about westerns the last time I saw you. Nine is the square of three and is thus one of those special numbers. Three occurs frequently, but why are you making an exception for four?" he asked.

"Duh," Dorcas said as a reply as they stepped into the phone booth to leave. Terry waited for her to continue. She unfortunately declared, "I'm totally Aramis." As Terry slapped his forehead, Dorcas continued, "Sirius is Athos, though, what with his endless depressions. And you don't really strike me as a Porthos, so I suppose you're left with d'Artagnan."

"Dorcas?" Terry asked, feeling a terrible headache coming on. Why was he stuck with Dorcas again? Oh, yes, Sirius couldn't be bothered to do something sensible like locking her up in the Room of Requirement or Grimmauld. And, of course, Terry had been unwilling to let her run amuck in his flat. This was why he was stuck in a phone booth with Dorcas Meadowes.

Looking like the cat that caught the canary, Dorcas inquired in return, "Yes?"

"Please never speak again."

"But we still need to find a Porthos!" Dorcas protested a bit too loudly as they exited the phone booth. Terry, for his part, just ignored her and continued to walk away, despite the stares they were receiving from the normal residents of London. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Then again, as long as Dorcas didn't acquire a rapier or a musketeer uniform, Terry felt he might be able to cope with her continued presence. Maybe.

* * *

Sirius looked at his watch. They were half an hour late. He had considered breaking into White's flat and waiting there, but in the end Sirius had decided he probably shouldn't do anything illegal. However, he also hadn't expected White and Dorcas to be half an hour late. Sirius grimaced and continued to lean against the wall near to the door to White's flat. His expression softened a little as he remembered how all of White's neighbors had been looking at him suspiciously as they passed by. Sirius wondered if White was really that popular hereabouts or if curious neighbors were under the impression that White was involved in something shady. Sirius wouldn't blame them if they did. White was, after all.

They—the three—had agreed to meet here, at White's flat, in order to discuss the horcruxes. White and Sirius had vaguely informed Dorcas of their existence in order to end her relentless questioning the night before. Sirius didn't doubt that White was still hesitant to bring Dorcas in on the scheme, but Sirius couldn't see events happening any other way. It would be undeniably unfair to keep Dorcas locked up somewhere, for all parties involved. Sirius knew Dorcas wasn't the most patient person in the universe, and if she had to be locked away while everyone else was fighting, she would probably go mad. This time, Sirius actually thought she would go crazy. Yes, everyone thought she was batshit insane, but fewer people knew the reason why she acted that way. Even Sirius wasn't quite sure, because Dorcas absolutely refused to talk about any of it. However, he did still remember why _she_ had been suspended around the same time he was on "medical leave" as a paper pusher in the Auror offices.

Therefore, they had to allow Dorcas to come with them. Besides, Sirius reasoned that having another good duelist was never a bad thing. It wasn't that White seemed incompetent, because Sirius honestly would not want to get in a fight with him, but White was the brains of the operation. The more people they had between White and the Death Eaters, the better. Plus, Dorcas hadn't been a slouch when it came to warding. She had initially planned on being a curse-breaker but decided the Aurors had a more interesting job description. That, and she could probably pull Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat if necessary. Sirius was almost positive that Dumbledore had the sword on display in his office, but he knew it paid to have back-up plans.

There were other issues to keep in mind as well, but Sirius wasn't sure if he wanted to consider all of it. White was probably going to be distracted the entire time they searched for these Godforsaken horcruxes. The events of the night before pretty much made that clear as day. Of course, Sirius didn't blame him. The guy's wife was almost murdered, and then he's invited to have _tea_ with _Narcissa_. Okay, so Narcissa's company wasn't horrible in and of itself, but the day just got so much better when Dorcas was dumped in their laps. When they finally managed to put Dorcas somewhere safe and unlikely to spontaneously combust, Sirius had suggested that White go visit the hospital, thereby proving that Sirius was the most intelligent person in the universe. Well, the decision had been less of an absolute train wreck than he had feared, but Sirius did have second thoughts about letting White make it back to his flat on his own. And then there was the girl.

Sirius felt like a complete failure, and White was probably going to kill him. Sirius had gone out on a limb and apparently informed the girl that White was a Death Eater. Oh, that had been brilliant, so very brilliant. Her reaction had only become worse after that, and then she had started crying for seemingly no reason. Sirius understood that she was worried about her aunt and that she was probably directing her anger and unease towards situations she could control. Her mother was probably who she was worried about the most, although the girl may have been worried equally about White, who, at least from Sirius's point of view, seemed to be more of a surrogate father to the girl than just her mother's cousin's husband. Sirius couldn't quite bring himself to acknowledge what was really bothering him.

The girl was thirteen. She was Artemesia's daughter. She ran off and hid in random alcoves when emotionally distressed. She thought White was completely out of his mind. Her boggart bore an overwhelming resemblance to… Sirius halted his train of thought, which he was slightly irritated to have been on in the first place. What he reasoned didn't matter. The only person who knew was Artemesia, and she would tell him the truth eventually. Probably. Hopefully. She might not, but he couldn't blame her. He had left her. Yes, he had had every intention of coming back after it was all over, but Sirius hadn't been thinking about her at all during that surreal day. He just hadn't been thinking. Artemesia didn't seem to hold his actions against him, but Sirius still held them against himself. What kind of man did that?

And where the hell were White and Dorcas? They should have been back by now and not leaving him to consider life, the universe, and everything! Damn. Well, whenever they used to get together, they'd be at least an hour late to everyth—Sirius stopped and refused to allow himself to consider what he had just thought. It was just a mental slip. It meant nothing. White was White. Hell, Sirius might have even started to remember him, too. White had been a Slytherin in the year below him. Nothing too odd. Except that Sirius was well aware that he was fooling himself. He didn't remember White at all and couldn't think of anyone even vaguely like him, except—No. He didn't remember anyone. No one, no one, no one.

Besides, White was alive. No one came back from the dead. No one, no matter how much Sirius pleaded or begged or cried. The dead were dead. So, White was who he said he was or someone similar. It didn't matter how much Sirius hoped and wished it were different. Oh, God, how he wished it were true! To not feel the pain and the guilt was far more than he deserved, but if… No. He had engaged in too much wishful thinking already. What he hoped simply wasn't possible. Reggie was cold and dead, in the ground, just like James.

James… Oh, God. No. No, none of this was supposed to have happened. Sirius wasn't cut out for this. He tried to be a good godfather for Harry, but James and Lily should have been there! It should have been them! If Sirius hadn't been such a fuck-up, he would have died for them, and then Harry would have had his parents. Sirius would have never fucked up anyone else's life. Oh, why did James have to die? It wasn't fair! It wasn't any bloody fair!

James would have known what to do. He would have helped sort all this out, and Lily would have told Sirius to get a hold of himself. Honestly, Lily's method would have been more effective, but that was Lily for you. It was easy to see why James fell in love with her, and after everything was sorted, James and Sirius would have found Remus and Peter (because he wouldn't have betrayed them), and they would all go out for a drink. And they would be happy.

Dammit, why couldn't White have been James? Why did he have to be Reggie? Why couldn't James have been the one who was still alive? Why Sirius's half-wit of a little brother? It wasn't right! It wasn't… It just wasn't…

Oh, God, how could he think something like that? They _both_ should have been alive, but they weren't, and it was all Sirius's fault. All his fault.

Sirius took a shaky breath. He had to calm down. He wasn't thinking right. He wiped the tears from his eyes and, not finding a tissue, wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. He must have looked ridiculous, breaking down like that in a public hallway. What a fool he was.

Anyway, as he said, Regulus was dead. White wasn't. Therefore, White could not be Regulus, no matter what Sirius's feelings on the matter were. Those were the facts, and nothing Sirius could do would change them. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Deciding he had waited long enough, Sirius was about to leave when Dorcas bounded down the hall with a disgruntled White bringing up the rear. Sirius sighed in relief and leaned back against the wall, choosing not to comment on the fact that White looked like he had again been through hell and the very clear fact that Dorcas was caffeinated. Dorcas continued to run around like a loon until White reached the door to the flat. With the realization that Sirius wasn't going to say anything, White said conversationally, "You weren't waiting too long, I hope?" as he unlocked the door.

Sirius shrugged as Dorcas rushed past them both and jumped onto the futon. "It wasn't too long," Sirius lied nonchalantly as he followed Dorcas inside. He was not particularly interested in White's reaction to what he had said.

White shut the door behind him and locked it before sliding down to the floor and just sitting there. Sirius raised an eyebrow, and White explained, "She made me run halfway around London today. I think we might have set a land-speed record when she made me chase her through the British Museum." Heading off the inevitable question, White continued, "I don't understand, either, Sirius, so don't ask me."

"Any particular purpose to your gay romp, then, Dorcas?" Sirius asked her lightly, expecting anything but a clear answer. She might say something completely ridiculous, but nothing clear.

"I'm out of shape and thus had to get a little exercise," Dorcas explained simply. She remained in her odd pose on the futon (she had managed to bend over the closest end of the futon backwards and was staring at Sirius upside down) as she continued, "Terry took me to Diagon Alley. I visited with Ollivander, and he was very interested in talking to Terry, but Terry was off doing something, so I said he was busy, sorry."

"Are you in the mood to share the futon, Dorcas?" White asked from his position on the floor. The request prompted Dorcas to move slightly, and she was now sitting on the futon with her back on the seat cushions and her legs draped over the back. White moved to sit next to her.

Sirius chose to continue leaning against walls and picked the wall across from the two of them to lean against. With another sigh, he asked, "I assume we might be able to discuss everything now? Or do you want me to come back another time, White?"

White shook his head and replied, "No, I'm fine, and I know Dorcas has been looking forward to this discussion all day. If you don't mind, I'm going to soundproof the room." He then muttered a number of countermeasures against anyone who attempted to listen in. Dorcas cheerfully added some of her own with great enthusiasm.

Sirius smiled a little at that, and White finally said, "So. Dorcas. We told you last night what the horcruxes are and that Voldemort made some. Sirius implied I know where some of them are. That's true." He paused and mentioned to Sirius, "You might want to sit down. I didn't tell you everything the last time we talked about this." Sirius chose to stand. Whatever it was, he could deal with it. If not, then he deserved it. Looking as if he felt Sirius's decision was unwise, White explained, "Voldemort created seven horcruxes. Dumbledore and I are in agreement on that. Three of the horcruxes are connected with the Four Founders. Two have personal meaning to Voldemort. The final two, however, have somewhat disparate containers. I'll talk about them later. I know the exact location of three horcruxes. A second three are in less permanent locations, but I know generally where they are. The seventh, however, I have no bloody clue about. Ravenclaw's diadem's been lost for generations, and there is no way in hell that I'm talking to the Hogwarts ghosts about any of it."

"Why? It's not like they're going to eat your soul or anything," Dorcas commented from her position next to him on the futon. "Besides, why would they know anything?"

Sirius grimaced and said, "I don't particularly blame you there, White. No one talks to the Bloody Baron lightly, and the Grey Lady isn't known to take inquiries into her past well." He understood now why White was nervous about the horcruxes. All of the books had neglected to mention if the creator of the horcruxes could tell if they were destroyed. There was a more than likely chance that Voldemort couldn't because the pieces of his soul had been completely severed, but White seemed like the kind of man who didn't take those sort of chances.

"Right," White agreed, continuing, "Also, even if we do manage to convince one or the other to mention where the diadem was lost, we only know where it was. Voldemort would not have left it in the same location in which it had been lost." White looked slightly frustrated and explained, "I tried to figure out where the final horcruxes were during both my self-imposed exile and my recent time in the Death Eaters, but I still haven't been able to find anything on this horcrux. I had better luck with the rest. The Headmaster informed me of the location of the Gaunt ring and that the diary has been put to rest."

"So that diary Harry destroyed was a horcrux?" Sirius realized. He should have figured that out sooner. There were a number of possibilities for what the diary could have been, but Sirius should have realized. "Damn," Sirius muttered before asking, "That's when Dumbledore discovered the horcruxes, isn't it?"

"Yeah," White admitted, pensive. Sirius then noticed that Dorcas was studying White's behavior as he was explaining the entire problem. She seemed concerned for him, which Sirius had to admit was not too odd, but she had always been the most observant of all of them. Breaking out of the daze he had put himself in, White cleared his throat and continued, "The next two horcruxes are the easiest to locate but possibly the most difficult to collect."

Sirius raised an eyebrow and queried, "Nothing so difficult as waltzing into Voldemort's lair and stealing them right under his nose, is it? Because, honestly, White, I can't think of anything more difficult than that."

Putting in her two cents, Dorcas declared, "If we need to raid anything, I know a guy who can get us a dragon. They're very useful in raiding. The Vikings used to—" She broke off when she noticed that Sirius and White were staring at her with identical expressions of please-tell-me-you're-kidding. "Fine. Ignore me, but we will require a dragon, I swear to you both."

White was oddly silent for a moment before admitting, "Well, the first horcrux is the locket, which is—I assume—at Grimmauld." (Dorcas broke in with an I-told-you-so about the dragon.) Ignoring her, White continued, "And the second is Hufflepuff's cup. Bellatrix Lestrange was entrusted with it, so she has obviously hidden it. The problem with where she hid the cup is that…" Unwilling to continue, White bit his lip but admitted, "We may need a dragon. At least."

Dorcas turned to look at White in disbelief and protested rather ineffectively, "No! I have a clean record! I refuse! Even if it means lots of roller-coastery fun, no!" She then hid underneath the blanket she had been sitting on. Sirius, on the other hand, needed a translator with what White was getting at. Truly, he needed White to say it himself, because Sirius did not want to jump to an incorrect conclusion that was possibly more horrifying than getting caught breaking and entering at Death Eater headquarters.

White smiled hesitantly and admitted, "Yes, it is hidden in Gringotts." He had apparently noted that Sirius was restraining himself from hitting something and continued, "But on the bright side, Bellatrix can't just walk in and claim it back. So, we could leave it for last."

Sirius nodded and said, "I suppose we'll have to." After a moment, he mentioned, "Then again, we could always ask Dumbledore to get us a warrant to search her vault. That way, what we're doing would be legal. Of course, the goblins would hate whoever signed it for all eternity."

Dorcas came out from under the blanket and shrugged. "Not necessarily. If you were a judge, they probably wouldn't care since your family's bloody loaded. If you withdrew all the money from the family vaults, they'd be pissed off at you, but Bellatrix is family, right?"

That was it! Sirius laughed. How had he missed it? Of course she would put it in _that_ vault! No way in hell she would put it in the Lestrange vault. No, this was a great honor for her to be chosen to hide a part of Voldemort's soul, even if she was unaware of the true nature of Hufflepuff's cup. Dorcas and White were staring at Sirius like he had gone mad, which was rather rich coming from the two of them. Grinning, Sirius explained, "If Bellatrix put it in her dowry vault, which I think she might have, then I should have a copy of the key back at Grimmauld. So, we don't have to pull off some crazy scheme that would probably land us in Azkaban!"

White covered his eyes with a hand and said, "I should have thought of that." At Dorcas's confused expression, White explained, "Bellatrix is the kind of person who would make sure that the honor of looking after a valuable possession of Voldemort's would be hers and hers alone."

Dorcas understood and continued the line of reasoning, "So then she would put it in a vault belonging to her to make sure everyone knew who was guarding it. That makes perfect sense." With a grin, she decided, "I can retrieve that one. I would most enjoy the ride into the vaults, but I suppose you'd have to accompany me, wouldn't you?"

Sirius grimaced and replied, "I guess. I'm probably the only other person who can access that vault, unless the goblins have gone back to their old opinion of as long as you have the key, they don't give a damn who's withdrawing anything."

"It would probably be best if you went, Sirius. Maybe all of us, but that might be a little suspicious. I don't know. We should cross that bridge when we get there," White said, thinking aloud. "In any case, the second to last horcrux is this snake that Voldemort has around. It's a bloody big snake, but I suppose it wouldn't be that difficult to kill it. Worst comes to worst, I could just flambé the thing with fiendfyre and be done with it. 'Course I'd have to run like hell from Voldemort if I did that, but what's a little deadly, uncontrollable fire between enemies?"

"I'm going to classify that as another bridge to burn when we get to it," Dorcas said. Sirius was about to ask what the final horcrux was when Dorcas continued, "You don't really want to discuss what the last horcrux is yet, do you?" When it didn't look like White was going to respond, Dorcas answered the question for him, "Of course, you didn't. Okay. So. New problem. When exactly are we going to get this done? I'm free, obviously, but Sirius, you're teaching at Hogwarts, and Terry here is all governmental or something. I think we have an itty-bitty logistics problem." She grinned nervously and said, "Just a little food for thought," before taking (ineffective) cover under the blanket once more.

Sirius knew that White's entire purpose in the UK was to get rid of Voldemort once and for all, but Dorcas did have a point. White couldn't exactly just tell his boss that oh, he was just going to go on a short, little interminable camping trip. Sirius did have a problem, too. What was he going to do? He couldn't just assume Dumbledore would let him go. Sirius needed to find a replacement, didn't he? There was a complete dearth of DADA teachers, hence why he was roped into this mad plot in the first place, but Sirius couldn't in his right mind subject the students to Umbridge. That was cruel and unusual punishment.

"It's fine for me. I already have an iron-clad reason for taking leaves of absence," White mentioned quietly. Despite the fact that it sounded like he had no problem with up and leaving, his expression betrayed some guilt. Sirius wondered then if White felt guilty about the reason instead of the action. After all, it certainly seemed that White was only fighting this war in order to avenge someone or even to avenge himself. Distracted, White continued, "First thing I figured out, once I knew I'd be coming back, you know?" He really did look depressed by that point, and not a little guilty, too. Sirius wondered why White felt that badly until he remembered that White had always been skirting around the subject of his older brother. Sirius felt it would be better if he didn't pry, especially considering his earlier thoughts on family.

Realizing it was his turn to say something, Sirius mentioned, "Well, if I find a replacement for my position, I suppose that Dumbledore would let me leave. Although, we could plan this escapade around our jobs. Well, Terry and I could. Dorcas, you can plan it around your incredibly busy schedule. I hope you can find the time." Sirius fell silent again, wondering if that wasn't the better route. If he just took some time off on either sides of weekends, then he could avoid the problem of finding a replacement all together. That said, Umbridge's continued presence could cause major problems. He would not give her an excuse to fire him. That could undermine Dumbledore's authority and possibly allow even more idiocy on the part of the Ministry. Sirius tried not to consider what could happen if Umbridge became temporary Headmistress. Actually, he could see the Weasley twins calling it a day and quitting school. As amusing as that might be to witness, Sirius knew that was a worst-case scenario.

Then, the excuse came to him. Sirius knew that it probably was not the most brilliant thing he had come up with, but it would work. "I know how I can resign. I'll ask Remus to come back. He'll complain, but I think he'd do it. Then, I tell Dumbledore so long and thanks for all the fish, but I'm going to go get psychiatric help now," he said, before he again thought of earlier. Maybe he should go that route regardless of the final decision here. "…Shit. I do not want to do this."

"You'll tell him the truth, though. Right?" Dorcas asked, suddenly rather serious. Sirius recognized that look of hers. She was done with joking around and was genuinely concerned for her friend. That was wonderful. He had managed to make Dorcas get serious. Was he really that much of a wreck? Or was he just acting poorly now? Dorcas seemed to consider what she had asked and said, "No, of course you will. That's what you'll say for the Ministry."

"And they'll believe it because they want to, whether or not it is true," White added with a slight frown. Sirius was wondering what was wrong with him, but he could have just been thinking about how the plan could go wrong—because it could, in many, many ways.

Dorcas, apparently happy with what had been decided, said, "Now that we've agreed on a course of action, I propose that we regroup at Christmas Hols, because then Sirius actually has a legitimate excuse to be AWOL, and I assume he's staying at Hogwarts until then, _n'est pas_?" When neither White nor Sirius disagreed during the couple of seconds in which she left for them to answer, Dorcas declared, "Good. Now, I am going to take a nap, which requires Terry standing up or otherwise removing himself from the couch."

White, for one reason or another, complied with Dorcas's wishes. Sirius raised an eyebrow, but White just shrugged and said, "What can you do?" Sirius followed him into the kitchen area, where White assayed the contents of the refrigerator. Sirius saw that there was some sort of creature growing in the vegetable bin. He vaguely wondered if it were sentient yet. "So, are you really going to quit? Or are you going to take a leave of absence?" White asked with some concern. "It seems as if you really like that job, Sirius."

Sirius turned to look at White with some surprise. After all, he had just been considering the sentience of the contents of the man's refrigerator. In all honesty, however, Sirius wasn't sure how to respond. Did he admit that he did like the job? Or did he just say it was necessary for the greater good? Sirius didn't much believe in the greater good bullshit, either, so he wasn't sure. "Leave of absence might make more sense. It seems as if we might be able to pull this off in a week, really," Sirius replied carefully.

None too optimistically, White replied, "I sure hope so." He paused then, as if strongly considering changing his mind, offered, "Day old coffee?"

Sirius laughed and said, "Yeah, sure. Sounds good." He watched White examine and ultimately toss out what sludge was present in the coffee pot and put new coffee grounds in the machine. White didn't stop with the coffee and attempted to start cleaning out the refrigerator as the coffee was brewing. Smiling, Sirius suggested, "White, it might be a good idea for you to just give up and scourgify the decaying food remnants away. Really, you're fighting a losing battle."

White grinned at Sirius and admitted, "Yeah, it is pretty much useless."

"Luckily, I happen to specialize in rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic," Sirius informed him as he glanced in the fridge again. Smiling slightly, he continued, "Christ, I haven't seen a fridge this bad since we moved James out of his old apartment. Remus and Peter always said they'd seen something moving in the freezer." Sirius felt a twinge of guilt at the memory but dismissed the feeling. He hadn't been able to do the right thing then, but he had another chance now. Grinning back at White, Sirius said, "Move over. I'll help."

White looked a little stunned but moved over anyway. "Thanks," he murmured, embarrassed. And so, they cleaned out the fridge, with Dorcas occasionally coming to steal a cup of coffee and offer a distraction. By the time he left, Sirius almost felt at peace.

* * *

_**Notes**: Two year anniversary! And I'm still not finished writing the story... Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you're still enjoying the fic!_

_**Coming Soon**: Luna psychoanalyzes, and Remus listens to conspiracy theories.  
_


	34. All the Lonely People

Luna found circumstances to be slightly disheartening. Another word might be amusing. The fact of the matter was that Gemma was more distracted than usual. Luna did not approve, partially because Gemma's cousins had flocked to her and partially because their friends had migrated. Thus, Luna was a blue island in the middle of a sea of yellow and green. Gemma was likewise an island unto herself, but she was less like an island than Luna.

Gemma was very much more depressed (if that were the correct emotion) than either of her cousins. Leo the Lion seemed to be coping with his mother's injury well enough. Luna remembered when her mother had been hurt, and she remembered the funeral. By her estimations, Leo seemed to be right as rain. Macha was not doing well. She was laughing and horsing around with her friend, the blond Slytherin completely unrelated to the Malfoys. Luna did not think Macha was coping well, unless she had already passed the acceptance stage. Of course, Luna did consider that Macha was simply hanging on to the knowledge that her mother would get better.

"Gemma, why are you so serious?" Luna asked, curious. She knew Gemma was worried about more than just the injury to her mother's cousin. She likewise suspected that it had more to do with the Amazing Bolting Leopard and the most excellent professor. Luna had borne witness to the high-speed chase through the halls of Hogwarts during the month of October. The cat had run like a Jaguar, but a big black dog _had_ been chasing him. Luna thought her Defense professor to be quite acceptable. All previous negative thoughts were completely outweighed by how intriguing some of his actions could be. That, and Luna had divined the source of the problem.

Hence why she thought the Amazing Bolting Leopard was roughly as intriguing as the Dog Star. Many unclear notions now made sense. That said, Luna still did not think that all the players in the game knew what the others were doing. Ships still passed each other in the night and all that. Maybe one or two had a light on or normally working sonar, but Luna was very confident in saying that the ships, for the most part, were passing in the night.

"Have you ever had the feeling, Luna, that the world was falling apart around you, and you couldn't do anything to stop it?" Gemma asked her. Luna knew Gemma had just had her entire universe upended upon itself. Words had been said in a couple nights past, but this process had been a long time in coming. Luna knew she had thought many a horrible thing in the summer, but she did not enjoy watching any of it come true, not in the least, and especially when her friends seemed to be paying for it (although Ginny seemed only to be prospering; the same went for Harry and Ron and Hermione and Neville and the rest of the DA).

"Yes," Luna replied to her friend. "I have. It's not happy. Everything should be getting better, though. It should happen soon, Alphecca. Do not worry quite so much." Luna hoped that Gemma did not notice that she had lied, but at least Gemma would feel better. Truthfully, many unfortunate events would occur before the skies started to clear. But, after a point, there would be smooth sailing. Clear seas, clear skies.

Gemma seemed hesitant to speak again, but Luna's unfailing stare managed to galvanize her into replying, "Luna, I know I shouldn't worry. I mean, what's the worst that could happen, right? But… but you remember my uncle, right? Well, I'm pretty sure he's in some sort of trouble. Professor Black kind of admitted it a week or so ago. I mean, it's not like Uncle Terry to—" Gemma broke off with a grimace. Luna wisely chose to stay silent and let her continue. Nervously, Gemma resumed, "And Mum's been more neurotic lately, too. It's nothing new, really, but this whole deal with Aunt Vesta's really thrown Mum for some reason. I mean, she's got a right to be depressed, but it's something else. Something else is wrong."

Luna nodded sagely. Gemma was misdirecting Luna. It was plain as day. Luna knew well that Gemma worried about her mother frequently. Recently, it usually had to do with their esteemed professor. However, Luna also knew that Gemma tended to wander off in her talking whenever she was worried about the topic. Hence why Luna knew that Gemma was worried about the Amazing Bolting Leopard and not her mother in her endless quest to snag their most excellent professor. "Really, Alphecca?" Luna asked, attempting to ignore certain annoying Slytherins' attempts to distract her. No matter. Their hair would be pink ere the day ended. So it was written; so it shall be done. Luna was sure Ginny could hook her up with the necessary items.

Gemma seemed to have been successfully distracted by her cousin and cousin's friend's mad scientist scheme. She quickly snapped out of her daze, however, and admitted to Luna, "Fine. So I'm not too worried about Mum. She has Professor Black to keep her company." Luna chose neither to note the somewhat relieved note nor the generally irritated note in Gemma's voice. Gemma continued more quietly, "Luna, it's not that I don't want to talk about it—" It was. "—I do, really, but I can't. Not in front of Leo or Macha, as distracted as they are."

Luna surveyed the sea of first years once more and queried as a normal person might, "Why exactly are we hanging out with them again?" Seeing Gemma amazed and astounded by Luna's use of the colloquial phrase, Luna clarified, "I see no particular purpose to remaining here. We could continue our discussion at the DA meeting-place or in one of the alcoves you favor." Luna wondered if Gemma understood where she meant but realized that the Slytherins had a death wish. They would get their comeuppance. Luna had seen it. They would indeed get their comeuppance, the war goddess and the third. They would see.

"That might be a good idea," Gemma admitted as Luna continued to ignore the demon child and her slightly more hesitant friend. Gemma behaved like a fish for a moment before ordering, "Macha, stop that." Turning to the miniature lion (who behaved remarkably like his father from what Luna had gathered from the yearbooks in the librray), Gemma informed him, "Leo, as much as your and your friends' presences are incredibly entertaining, Luna and I need to go somewhere else to play Exploding Snap. I'll see you later." As an afterthought, Gemma added, "And please inform your sister that if she doesn't stop, she'll incur the wrath of God. No, Macha, I am not kidding."

"We have a close personal relationship," Luna added sagely. They did. All four of them. The Weasley twins had the most insightful ideas, and the Quitdditch commentator had a way with words. Luna belatedly considered that the Quidditch commentator was then just a prophet. It was open to interpretation, Luna supposed.

Macha ceased her annoying, and Luna and Gemma departed to the far reaches of the universe. At the Astronomy tower (a couple had been engaged in a convoluted mating ritual in the hallway near the Room of Requirement; Gemma coincidentally needed lye to blind herself), Luna transfigured a chair and desk into a nicer chair and a chaise longue. Gemma was not amused but took her seat anyway. Taking out her day planner and a quill, Luna nibbled on the end of the quill thoughtfully for a minute before she informed Gemma, "Now, tell me your problems so I can be unhelpful and invoke the name of Freud."

Gemma cracked a smile, causing Luna to feel she was indeed fulfilling her purpose. Unfortunately, the happy expression fled as quickly as it had come. "My uncle's a Death Eater, and Aunt Vesta got hurt because he's spying on them," Gemma quietly informed Luna, not looking the least bit happy in the slightest. Well, the situation was deadly serious.

"I see no issue," Luna replied—alas—unhelpfully. She had known this news for some time. Gemma should have been glad her uncle was doing right. Unhappy that he was reckless, yes, but glad he was a "white hat" as some said. Luna did not understand the phrase. Good and evil were not color-coded. "Your uncle wants He-Of-The-Hyphenated-Names dead, correct? Your aunt is safe, yes? Where is the problem?" Luna asked, wondering if Gemma would understand.

Alas, Gemma was too wrapped up in her teenage angst to take a step back and logically consider the situation. "No, Luna, it's that he was a real one once," Gemma tried to explain. "He's always had that tattoo on his arm, and I know he wasn't working for anyone else when he got it. I don't know how, but I just…" Luna was starting to see the problem. It was not that the Amazing Bolting Leopard play-acted one of the doom-munching henchminions but that he had joined in the first place. However, Luna knew nothing of those circumstances. If she did, she would reassure Gemma that all would be well.

"Have you asked him about this episode in his life?" Luna inquired. Gemma did not have mind-reading capabilities. Neither could she see what Luna did. Therefore, Gemma was just reacting to her feelings, and Luna did not see why Gemma should draw conclusions without enough raw data. It was not an efficient allocation of one's emotional resources.

"No, but I can tell," Gemma answered quietly. While Luna did not think that Gemma's way of doing things was the wisest, she knew it was how Gemma operated. "Sometimes he slips up, you know?" Gemma continued. "He says things he shouldn't say, and I know he gets horrified because he said them, but he still slips. Oh, I dunno; maybe I shouldn't be left to think alone. I start doubting everyone."

Luna cocked her head to the side and made a connection. "You don't know what happened at all, Alphecca, do you?" she asked not without kindness. "I would think that if you knew, you would understand." A leopard cannot always change his spots, especially one that was a panther to begin with. Luna then wondered what would happen to an animagus if they dyed their hair. Maybe she should put in a request to the Weasley twins and cohort.

"What, you think my uncle's been lying about his past this entire time?" Gemma demanded with irritation. Luna then wondered if she had indeed been intelligent to mention what she had. "What reason would he have to lie?" Gemma continued very defensively. "It's not like he had to anything to hide from, unless he was already on the run from—" She broke off in realization. There was an explanation, and it was a rather good one, too. "Oh."

"Exactly," Luna said. Shutting her notebook with a resounding snap, she declared, "I believe a crisis may have been averted." Hopefully, Gemma would have enough sense to follow the rabbit hole to the correct conclusions, but maybe not. The male parental unit certainly could be dense, and Luna was starting to have the sneaking suspicion he had passed that on.

"Well, now I feel like a right idiot," Gemma said, rather chagrined. She did not need to be. After all, the Dog Star was oblivious in regards to the Amazing Bolting Leopard. Three to four to possibly seven and still nothing despite the rest. Much better than the alternative with death, destruction, and snaky doom. Although curtains and unidentified flying walls could still occur. Luna did not want UFWs. Curtains would certainly be horrible, too, but the latter signified a much more complete snaky doom. Luna considered liars and their lies for a moment, but she did not expect a resurgence of platypi. The war goddess's pet was enough for Luna's tastes. Seeking an alternate opinion, Luna asked, "What do you think of a deluge of marsupials? Well, a marsupial and a monotreme, but the question still stands."

Gemma, horribly ripped away from her depressive thoughts, stared at her best friend with a look of utter confusion. "Luna, I love you like a sister, but sometimes I have no idea what you're saying," Gemma answered hesitantly. "Could you offer some clarification? Are you asking a general Australia question or are you speaking of other things?"

"Cabbages and kings," Luna affirmed. Obviously.

"Ah," Gemma replied and considered again. Unfortunately, she did not seem to think much on these subjects and admitted, "I'm sorry, Luna, but I've still no bloody clue what you mean."

"What say you on the topic of kangaroos and platypi? The war goddess's pet is rather annoying, but I suppose not all are," Luna explained. After a moment, she continued, "And I must admit that I rather like the idea of kangaroos. I think you would, too."

"What does Macha's friend have to do with anything, Luna?" Gemma asked, concerned.

"Well, I suppose he may be a platyroo, which would be odd, but the question remains the same. Kangaroos and platypi. It has become obvious that canines and felines of all sorts are good, as are cervidae, I suppose. However, I would like your imput," Luna mused.

Gemma seemed to be under the impression that Luna had finally gone round the bend. It was logical that Gemma be slightly confused, but she had followed Luna clearly enough in the past. As a last ditch effort, Luna continued to clarify, "Two unknowns. I identify them with Australian animals. You should know or at least know of them, but I do not understand why you do not. I've spoken to you of the platypus before, but the kangaroo is indeed unknown yet should not be thus."

Comprehension finally dawned on Gemma's face. "That platypus!" Gemma exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so?" she asked before she demanded very seriously, "What about the platypus? And how is the kangaroo, who I should know of but do not, connected?"

"In the beginning, there was the Kangaroo," Luna replied.

"So the kangaroo's good?" Gemma guessed, and Luna indicated she was in fact correct. Another thought struck Gemma, and she continued, "And Professor Black knows him or her?"

"The kangaroo works in mysterious ways," Luna agreed. "The kangaroo is like glue and sticks to Robin to prevent him from roasting platypi. Batman does not approve of the cookout."

Going out on a limb, Gemma finally decided, "Well, if Batman—whoever he may be—doesn't approve of roasting the platypus, then maybe the platypus will be all right, especially if the kangaroo, who you say is good, tries to prevent Robin—I do not want to know, Luna—from roasting said platypus." Frowning, Gemma checked, "That does make sense, right?"

"Well enough," Luna agreed. The Boy Wonder was easily confused with the bane of the Lionheart's brother due to the bright green tights. "Well enough. The Great Mouse Detective will help them. If they rebuild it, he will come. If not, expect reindeer. The house of cards is fragile, and green and purple dragons are great and terrible indeed. They need the sword," Luna realized. "But shields may be counter-productive."

Gemma paused, thinking, and decided to transfigure the furniture back. They would leave soon. It was time. Luna hoped Gemma had some idea of what had just been said. Gemma usually could decipher the warnings, and this time Luna would not be clear. It would be very unfair to Gemma to spell it out. Unfair to all those involved, really. Shields would be the end of it all. The dragon did not believe in shields and cut them down, cackling all the while. Thankfully, Gemma found what Luna hoped she would. Smiling, Gemma said, "Luna, thanks. I think everything will turn out all right, too, but the next time you mention the dragon, please don't make me think of the three good fairies. I don't even want to know who you think the green fairy was."

Luna shrugged as they made to leave. What Gemma said, of course, was actually an invitation to tell her. Shortly down the hallway, Luna decided to inform Gemma, "The kangaroo is green, but I should hazard she is wisest. Full of logic but knowing when to be the opposite." Sighing, Luna looked at her watch. Three freckles past a hair.

"I know, I know, Luna. It's time to go to the DA meeting," Gemma said before Luna could inquire just that. With a determined grin, she said, "Can't let the bad guys win, now can we?"

Luna shook her head and agreed, "No. We will not." She was glad to have these friends, even more so because they lived in interesting times.

* * *

"You cannot be serious!" Remus exclaimed, glad he had already finished his drink.

Sirius laughed shortly. "Right. That's what I thought," he said, sounding vaguely depressed and staring sullenly at his glass of firewhisky. Remus was under the impression that his friend needed the order provided by his job. His disappointment had nothing to do with the fact that Sirius was quitting the job that Remus wished he still had. "Remus, I have to do this. The reasons have nothing to do with… Look, as far as most know, I'm taking medical leave, Moony. 'Cause I'm not right in the head."

Remus grimaced. He did not like the sound of that. It was bad enough that Sirius was quitting or taking a leave of absence. He understood Sirius was taking a hit for the Order so people in the Ministry like Dolores Umbridge weren't able to keep the Order from working against Voldemort. Remus knew everyone one in the Order was technically a vigilante, but enough of them were actually in the government to make the Order almost legit. However, Sirius was taking this leave of absence on the excuse that he was going to get psychiatric help, and Remus couldn't just stand by and watch Sirius do that to himelf. "Christ, Sirius, you know they're going to make sure to check that you actually see a therapist," Remus reminded him.

"I'm well aware," Sirius murmured, probably wishing he hadn't decided to bring up the topic. "Look, if I thought it were possible, I would stay at Hogwarts and take a couple of days off every so often. The students wouldn't particularly care, unless my temporary replacement were Umbridge, and therein lies the problem. She'll fire me if I take any time off, and I won't let her win like that. If I do leave, I have to find someone to replace me, so Umbridge won't get her dirty claws on the job." Remus did not like the sound of where this was heading. At that moment, he wished he didn't know Sirius as well as he did. Sirius concluded: "Remus, you're the only Defense professor they've had who's even halfway decent, and you know you're the best that's been at Hogwarts in a long time. I know you don't think you should go back, but honestly, you're the one who should be teaching them, Moony, not me."

"Are you saying that because you think you're incapable of dealing with children? Or are you just trying to blackmail me, Sirius?" Remus asked, trying not to sound frustrated with his friend. God knew he wanted the job back, but he couldn't take the offer, not now. Besides, Sirius was asking because he knew Remus wanted the job and therefore felt guilty about quitting. It wasn't fair to make the suggestion when Remus knew that even if he did tell Sirius he would take the job and Dumbledore gave the okay, the Board of Governors would reject the decision. Sometimes Remus wished Sirius remembered not everyone was accepting of werewolves as he was.

Sirius, however, looked slightly hurt because Remus suggested he was trying to back out of the job. "No, Remus, I need to leave with as few repercussions as possible for everyone involved, and you're the only person I trust with teaching Harry and the other kids," he defended. After a moment, Sirius amended, "Well, I suppose that I trust Moody, too, but it'll be a cold day in hell before he even considers taking the job again. And, well… There is another option, but I'd rather go to Moody before sinking that low, Remus."

Remus sighed exasperatedly and said, "You know, Sirius, if you did ask Snape, you wouldn't have to worry at all." Admittedly, then Sirius would have to look for a decent potions teacher, which was generally difficult. However, Sirius looked as if he found the idea of asking Snape (and even worse, possibly getting into contact with Slughorn) quite distasteful. "Sirius, don't give me that. Look, he's trustworthy, and maybe—"

"And maybe this will cause us to be slightly less willing to stab each other in the back," Sirius finished, falling silent. Of course, there had to be a number of reasons that Sirius wasn't willing to listen to reason, but Remus wasn't about to remind him of any of them. Remus did have his suspicions, but there was no way to broach the subject without risking a nuclear meltdown on Sirius's part. Finally, Sirius resumed, "Look, Remus, I know. I know, all right? I just wanted to ask you first, just in case you had changed your mind. While I'd rather jump off a cliff than ask Snape for anything, he is the only logical alternative. Fuck, I still can't believe that amazing bit of acting he pulled off in front of Umbridge."

Remus raised an eyebrow. Had he heard that correctly? Sirius Back, praising Severus Snape? Merlin's pants, Dolores Umbridge was one of only two catalysts that would secure the cooperation of both Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Remus likewise found Umbridge loathsome but he was the one who was affected by the legislation she supported! Of course, Severus hated obsequious people and bright colors, and Sirius hated obsequious people and bigots, so Remus supposed the two should agree more often than loathing Umbridge and Voldemort. Remus wasn't expecting miracles any time soon, but he supposed this was as good as he was going to get. Remus asked, "So you _are_ going to ask Snape to replace you for this leave of absence you refuse to talk about?"

"Yes, and I am not refusing to talk about it," Sirius replied, now slightly defensive. It figured, Remus thought. It really did. Sirius was going to close himself off and refuse to talk about what was bothering him. Sadly, this behavior was typical of the man. Grimacing, Sirius explained, "Look, Remus, I'll fill you in later, at the meeting, all right? White's bloody paranoid about this shit, and I do not want to jeopardize his trust. White is going to tell the entire Order a cover story pretty damn near the truth, but I swear I'll tell you what's really going on. All of it, madness included."

Remus smiled wryly. "Right. This news must be thrilling, then. Too bad you don't have the Handmaiden of Madness to convince Slughorn to come back to Hogwarts, because you will not convince me to try," he mentioned. Slughorn was a good enough teacher, but Remus had always vaguely disliked him. Yes, he had been the last person Slughorn would have ever picked for the Slug Club, but that was more because of the lycanthropy than a lack of intelligence or connections on Remus's part. Also, Remus would always be abysmal at making potions. Thankfully, he and Sirius had always been lab partners, and Sirius had been pretty damn good at potions. The arrangement had worked well. Sirius did the work whenever silver instruments were needed, and Remus handled what sent Sirius into anaphylactic shock.

As to the Slug Club, Lily had insisted on taking Remus to the parties, so Remus hadn't suffered too much, but he did not want to renew contact with Slughorn. Besides, he doubted he could convince Slughorn to come back, seeing as Remus was still on the down and out and a werewolf. Now, if Lily or Snape were to attempt to convince Slughorn, there would be no problem, but if Lily were still alive, she would have been the next choice for a potions teacher, despite how she had possessed a greater aptitude for charms. However, if she were still alive, they wouldn't be in this situation.

In the meantime, Sirius exclaimed, "Moony, you're bloody brilliant!" Remus stared at his friend in confusion. Yes, he had mentioned the other Gryffindor in their year who had been a part of the Slug Club, but she had been dead longer than Lily had. Sirius laughed and said, relieved, "Oh, thank God. I don't have to talk to Slughorn!" At Remus's lost expression, Sirius realized he was neglecting to mention what exactly Remus had been brilliant about, because Remus did wonder greatly. "Shit, I haven't told you, have I?" Sirius remembered. "Damn. Well, fuck, I thought I'd told you. Hell, I suppose the Hog's Head's as fine a place as any to tell you, seeing as only Aberforth, some hag who might be Dung, and the regulars are here." After a dramatic pause, Sirius mentioned, "Dorcas isn't dead."

Remus blinked a couple times and then blinked some more for good measure. Hm. That certainly was intriguing. He noticed that neither he nor Sirius had imbibed enough alcohol to cause auditory hallucinations, so unless this was some strange, demented dream, apparently Dorcas was not dead and buried. "She's not dead? I thought we found her body, stabbed to death and petrified for good measure?" Remus inquired, shaken by this odd turn of events. Another incredibly pressing thought then struck him: "Oh, God, she doesn't still refer to me in terms of furry animals and breakfast food, does she?"

Sirius paused in his answering, which could only mean that Dorcas had referred to Remus at least once in that manner. "Well, no, she's not dead. Dorcas is quite well, actually," Sirius reported hesitantly. "Also, she seems to have possibly developed Stockholm Syndrome whilst locked in Narcissa's basement these past fifteen years."

"Not for Lucius, I hope," Remus said, slightly horrified by the mere idea.

Sirius, however, remained unfazed. "No, thankfully," he replied. "In any case, I was shocked to find her still alive. She bloody tackled me to the floor. I think I might still have the fucking bruises." He absentmindedly rubbed his arm as he continued, "That said, I was glad to see her, even if I was slightly confused as to why she was alive and in Cissy's basement after all these years."

"Right," Remus agreed before realizing what Sirius had just said. "Wait, what do you mean, you were 'confused as to why she was alive'? I mean, yes, the Death Eaters obviously pulled a fast one on us, but why would they go through the trouble of faking her death if they were just going to kill her anyway?" he demanded. Remus was aware of how stupid his second question sounded after it had left his mouth. The first question was reasonable, but of course anyone would be surprised to see a friend long presumed dead. Remus was sharply reminded of the reason he hadn't been the one to talk the Marauders out of trouble back in the day. Teaching, yes, he was good at that.

"It has been almost fifteen years, Remus," Sirius pointed out, probably well aware that Remus knew why his questions were mildly idiotic. "I mean, I came to the conclusion they would have just used her for information, too, but this is Dorcas we're talking about. There are clearer people to capture and interrogate," Sirius reassured his friend. "Unfortunately, then Dorcas put in her two cents. From what I deciphered, some ward spontaneously sprung up and protected her. No one Voldemort ordered to kill her could inflict any mortal damage. Voldemort couldn't, either, so the Death Eaters tried to make her useful in some way, maybe torturing her for information, but she doesn't seem very affected by any of it. I have the sneaking suspicion that Narcissa finally found someone to shop with, hence why Dorcas is about as normal as she ever was. On a related note, she's still a little batty from her sudden change in locale, but White's taking the brunt of that. Of course, that's what he gets for volunteering."

"Poor White?" Remus said, none too sure he wanted to know.

"Yeah. He's actually been trying to avoid her for days, but that's rather difficult for him, seeing as she's currently sleeping on the futon in his apartment," Sirius said with not a little amusement.

Remus found Sirius's reaction to be relatively typical. Although, were Sirius to be a decent human being, he would probably offer to house Dorcas sooner than later. After all, they had all lived in that flat together for two years, until Frank had left to live with Alice, Dorcas had moved in with Gideon or Fabian (she had never been too clear but survey said Fabian), and Remus had convinced Sirius he had enough money to rent his own flat. "I'm sure White's none too pleased about the sudden drain on his finances due to Dorcas's consumption of vast quantities of beer," Remus said, slightly wondering why White had volunteered for Dorcas-duty.

Contributing the requisite non sequitur to the conversation, Sirius mentioned, "By the way, I've figured out what's wrong with White."

Oh, Merlin, not again. "What?" Remus asked with some trepidation. He did not see this going well.

"Give me some credit, Remus, I'm not that dim." Remus wouldn't bet on it. Sirius scowled and protested, "This theory's not that out there, really. Better than the last one I had about White." Remus sent an incredulous stare Sirius's way. If his friend hadn't figured it out by now, Remus wasn't betting that Sirius would figure anything out before the next ice age.

Aware that Sirius was not going to continue unless Remus prompted him, he asked, "So what's your theory this time? He's actually from outer space? Has some dark, haunted past like a character in a gothic novel? Please tell me your idea is at least sensible this time."

"But, Moony! I'm always sensible!"

"No, you're always Sirius, but tell me what nonsense you think White's mixed up in this time," Remus said, telling himself that he was doing a good thing listening to Sirius come up with ridiculous theories. After all, the mutt was bound to pitch the truth to Remus eventually, right? Yes, Sirius would. Monkeys and typewriters. (Remus could only hope.)

Not so hesitantly, Sirius began, "So, White's divulged a little more information about himself recently, and—I never really told you about the boggart fiasco, either, did I? Well, there was a fiasco. It was painful. In any case, White has about as many problems as I do, except he seems smart enough to have gotten help about it. Or, he has gotten help about it, but it didn't work too well." Remus found he couldn't blame White for either possibility. Sirius in the meantime had continued, "Also as far as I can tell, White was a legit Death Eater once. Some reason or another, probably because he doesn't hold with their ideals at all, caused him to be a turncoat."

"We've established that, Sirius. Many times before," Remus reminded him.

"I know, but I'm setting up my theory," Sirius defended. With a theatrical sigh, he resumed, "So, White became a turncoat, and then he went off and did something so utterly stupid that His Dark Lordship started to doubt White's dedication to the Cause." Idly, Remus wondered how in the name of God, Merlin, and their fuzzy socks that Sirius hadn't been murdered in his sleep by his eldest cousin when he had still graced his family with his ever-so-delightful presence, because Remus damn well knew Sirius had been this sarcastic and flippant about Voldemort and the Death Eaters since they were thirteen. However, Remus didn't dwell on the thought, because Sirius was still discussing his pet theory, "When that happened, Moldy gave White an ultimatum, and the result of that was that White almost killed his brother, on purpose or accidentally."

"Wait, _what_?" Remus demanded, confused as to how Sirius had drawn that particular conclusion. Yes, there were certain things he suspected Sirius would eventually infer, but that was definitely a bolt out of the blue.

Sirius thankfully had the grace to look uncomfortable and hesitantly explain, "The boggart incident. It wasn't pretty. White feels a ridiculous amount of guilt." Restraining himself from making an off-color comment about iron kitchen implements, Remus realized he would have to drag that story out of Sirius at some point in the near future. There was something Sirius wasn't telling him, and Remus was determined to uncover what it was. Sirius had told him about his worries regarding Artemesia and, by extension, Gemma, but Remus knew something else was bothering his friend. Sirius made a habit out of using other issues to cope with what really distressed him. Hell, honestly, Remus was just glad Sirius was talking to him in the first place.

"Oh," Remus finally said after a pause. Going out on a limb, Remus suggested, "I'm sure he was being metaphorical, Sirius. From what you've told me, White doesn't seem able to attempt, much less commit, cold-blooded murder. He doesn't seem like he has it in him to kill. Granted, White didn't go through with it, but I can't think of any explanation other than that he was speaking metaphorically.

With a grimace, Sirius admitted, "Well, I didn't think he was capable of it, either, but the boggart was actually the one who said it, not him. Of course, the boggart also accused him of killing Reg, but that's just mad. Regardless, White eventually pissed off Voldie to the point that said homicidal psychopath disposed of him. Bella seems to have done the dirty work, and then White stayed in the States till the end of the first war. After that, he just stayed there."

Despite Sirius's possible misinterpretation of the timeline, what he said did make a degree of sense, although if that narrative were generally correct, Sirius was right about White having issues. Was Remus surprised? No. The only reason Remus did not share his own theory was that he was afraid he was wrong, and he couldn't do that to Sirius. Remus couldn't verify his theory, either, because he had never run into White again after that madcap chase through Hogwarts back in October. Therefore, Remus had had no chance to confront White about it. "Your conspiracy theory actually sounds plausible for once, Sirius," Remus mentioned casually. "You ever going to ask White about it?"

"No. There's something missing, and sometimes I just swear that… I sometimes think I should know him, but I'm none too trusting of what I think when I'm like that," Sirius replied darkly. "I don't know, Remus. Maybe it'll be a good thing that I go get some help, you know? Find out what's wrong with me, because we both know I'm not bloody better."

Pensively, Remus asked, "Are you still having the Azkaban nightmares as frequently as you did over the summer?" It had taken Remus five gin and tonics (Molly had wisely hidden all of the firewhisky, but shortly after that conversation Remus had given the leftover gin to Tonks) to get Sirius to admit just how badly he had been sleeping before classes had started in the fall. That discussion had only taken place in late October, no less. "Is it worse?"

"No, it's not worse. I don't have the nightmares as much, but I still have the flashbacks and wake up thinking I'm still in there," Sirius admitted. With a harsh laugh, he continued, "It's not affecting me that badly, but I feel off for the rest of the day. When someone mentions the war, I don't really feel anything, but when I think about Ja—" Sirius stopped abruptly before he murmured, "Well, let's just say it's even easier to think myself into depressions now. Wasn't all this supposed to go away when I stopped running?"

"If only it were that easy," Remus murmured, carefully ignoring his friend's slip.

Sirius nodded in wishful agreement and knocked back the rest of his drink.

* * *

_**Notes**: So, I meant to post this for Thanksgiving but was side-tracked. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or added this to their alert or favorites lists._

_**Coming Soon**: The Order of the Phoenix meets, and pink flamingoes do not rain from the sky._


	35. Strangers in the Night

Terry sat uncomfortably in the dining room chair, hoping the Order of the Phoenix meeting would be over quickly. He did not like the attention he had been given during his explanation of the plan, and he liked any continued interest even less. Thankfully, most seemed put off enough by the fact he was a Death Eater, renegade or not. Unfortunately, Remus Lupin was one who still seemed to want to talk to him, which was why he would like to leave as soon as possible. Granted, he did want to talk to Sirius about Dorcas and her idiocy, but that could be put off.

For various reasons, Terry had decided he would best resume the use of illusion spells during Order meetings, if only to dissuade Molly Weasley from the idea that he was underfed. He got that quite enough, thank you very much. Plus, there was a slim chance Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt, or, God forbid, Moody would _actually_ recognize him. And, honestly, that would be slightly counter-productive, because he would then have to run away from Sirius at the speed of light, which would be quite unpleasant. Plus, Terry preferred to save his inevitable conversation with Kreacher for another day.

Speaking of current and former denizens of number 12, Grimmauld Place, Sirius seemed concerned, and he undoubtedly found Terry's decision to resume use of the spells suspicious. Sirius tended to overreact about everything, but that had only been in Terry's experience and when they had been younger. Times had changed. Then again, Sirius might have been concerned because Terry was wearing a glamour that hid all of his scars and hid the evidence that he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. He might not have had much sleep lately, but there was no reason to look it. He hadn't been subjected to Bella's presence recently, so there was no problem.

Fine, so Terry was a nervous wreck. There hadn't been much to do at the Embassy recently as compared to earlier in the year, although he was apparently supposed to be present for the Christmas party. He had managed to extract himself from that situation by reminding the events coordinator that Vesta was still in the hospital. She was due to come home in a couple days. She didn't need monitoring much longer, but her doctor wanted to make sure she hadn't been poisoned with any delayed-activated potions. Vesta was doing much better, but it didn't seem like she would be able to make the trip to New York for Christmas. (Honestly, Terry wasn't sure how he felt about that. Yes, it was nice for the extended family to get together for Christmas, but Terry wouldn't terribly mind passing up the endless discussions of Quodpot and American football his male in-laws would inevitably drag him into. At least his father-in-law talked about baseball instead, which Terry found _somewhat_ interesting.)

Terry belatedly realize he may have wanted to listen to Tonks' report, but he was otherwise occupied mentally. He knew he would make a better impression on the Order if he paid attention, but whatever she was talking about seemed to have to do with Ministry security. Maybe around the Prophecy? It would make sense, although Terry didn't see why they should try to put an extra guard near or in the Department of Mysteries. If anyone but Potter or Voldemort tried to remove the thing, it would be of no use. That, and it wasn't like the Death Eaters were—No, that was the new plan, wasn't it? In that case, one guard wouldn't be enough. The Death Eaters were going to try to break in so that Voldemort could steal the Prophecy. There was another Grand Master Plan and everything. The new one had been coauthored by Lucius Malfoy, Esq., _and_ Rodolphus Lestrange, Esq., so, obviously, it was foolproof.

Terry supposed he should have spoken up about the plot, but Snape hadn't, either, and they both had been present for the vast majority of those meetings. He could only assume Snape had already informed Dumbledore of the general outline of the plan. Terry's job wasn't to keep the Order informed of that sort of information anyway. His purpose was the destruction of the horcruxes, and he was well on his way to accomplishing that, even if he had somehow managed to have recruited Sirius and Dorcas. Well, they had recruited themselves, really. He wished they hadn't. It wasn't right that they be sucked into his neverending quest. Terry wished his superiors in the Agency had let him accomplish as much of the mission as he could before Voldemort had been resurrected. It was frustrating, to say the least, that they hadn't.

The meeting concluded after another half hour, and most of the Order started to file out of the dining room. Terry stayed in his seat. So did Sirius. Fortunately, Tonks had abducted Lupin as she chirped about dinner. That was one less firestorm of accusations to worry about. Terry was pretty sure Lupin knew, now more than ever. He found it slightly odd that Snape hadn't left yet. True, Severus had left the room, but Terry had noticed his friend had stayed behind to talk to Dumbledore about some more sensitive material. Oh, well. Probably didn't mean anything, anyway.

"You look more distracted than usual," Sirius mentioned quietly. Terry didn't even want to fathom what Sirius was thinking, but they were here to talk business, weren't they?

"It's the holidays. You know how it gets," Terry replied absentmindedly and swiftly remembered to whom he was talking. Quickly, he amended, "Well, relatives and everything. Usually, we go to Vesta's parents' house, like the rest of her sisters, their uncle, their aunt, and their respective families. It's a lovely time, if you don't mind children trampling you underfoot or being blackmailed into looking after them."

Sirius smiled and said, "That seems to be a completely foreign concept. Happiness? At the holidays? God forbid." Terry remembered a particularly vivid memory involving tinsel, Narcissa, and a yule log. And then there was the time with Bellatrix and the exploding fruitcake. Andromeda had captured that disaster on film. Well, Terry was particularly distractible today. Lovely. With a sigh, Sirius started over, "White, you're on good terms with Snape, right? I need your help talking to him."

Terry stared at Sirius in undisguised surprise and a degree of suspicion. "Why?" he asked. "I can't be the best person you know to help you speak to Snape. I mean, he thinks I'm a lunatic." For various reasons, the majority of them legitimate. Terry continued, "But what do you need me to talk to Snape for? If I pitch anything to him, I can't promise he'll listen."

Sirius grimaced and explained, "Look, White. Remember how I need to take time off my job? Well, guess who I'm asking to take my place?" Sirius didn't look too happy about the circumstances, but Terry didn't think he would be. Sirius needed that sort of order in his life. Throwing away what may have been the only way he had hung on to his sanity for as long as he had after justice was served could push him over the edge. Terry did not want to cause another of Sirius's mental breakdowns, so how could he—in clear conscience—help Sirius remove one of the few pillars of stability in his life?

"I can't, Sirius," Terry answered. He was going to catch hell for this, but he felt better refusing to be the one who helped further destroy Sirius's life. Terry could live with being an enabler, but the architect of his demise was just going too far. He had ruined his brother's life before, and he would be damned if he did it again. "Look, we both know you're going to take off time at least until Easter Hols, but this will probably run for the rest of the year. I know it sounds stupid, but I do not want to be accountable for whatever happens," Terry said. He did not want to explain in the slightest, because that would mean he would have to lie to Sirius, and he did not want to lie. No more. Sirius always could to tell when his brother lied.

Sirius looked at Terry oddly for a moment before clarifying, "I'm not asking you to talk to him for me, White. I was just asking how you manage to talk to him peaceably. Snape and I don't exactly get along, you know." Terry knew that well. If Bellatrix was first in line to kill Sirius, then Severus was lucky number two. Trying to make peace between Sirius and Severus was like trying to stop the tectonic plates from shifting.

"Oh, well, I suppose—" Terry started, but there was no point in furthering this line of conversation. Sure, he could tell Sirius to be civil, but Sirius had previously tried to be civil and failed. That was about where Terry's expertise ran out. "Why are you asking me, then?" he asked. "I manage to keep from having Severus permanently pissed off at me, but I think that's due to extenuating circumstances, like him recognizing me, which would mean I have absolutely no advice for you in all honesty. That would explain why he's been so decent lately."

"He recognized you?" Sirius asked, obviously trying very hard not to look too curious. As usual, he was failing rather magnificently, although Terry was starting to wonder if everyone could read Sirius as easily as he could.

Terry then realized what he had just admitted and hoped he didn't look like he wanted to slam his head into the table. Why had he said that? "I think so. It doesn't matter. He'll stay silent," Terry said quickly, hoping Sirius wouldn't press the subject. He didn't want to lie to his brother more than he had to. He wasn't lying about Severus, anyway. He'd been the one who saved Terry's life back at the cave, and keeping silent about said incident to Voldemort was indicative of whose lot Severus had thrown in with. Terry wondered what he had done to inspire that kind of loyalty. He had been rather pathetic back in the day. Maybe that was why? If so, it was quite the ego booster.

"I believe you," Sirius said, sounding vaguely defensive. "Well, I just thought I'd ask, if you had any advice about talking to Snape," he reiterated before switching topics. "Nice job, by the way, with your briefing earlier. Nice and clear, if a bit vague. Everyone in the Order nowadays is trustworthy, so you could have said more."

"It's better this way," Terry insisted, relieved the former topic of conversation seemed dead. Still, maybe he should warn Sirius never to mention Lily in Severus's presence unless he wanted to cause a nuclear meltdown. "What they don't know won't hurt them, and what the Death Eaters can't find out won't hurt us," Terry continued.

Sirius nodded and said, "Yeah, I know. I just wish it wasn't like that." There was a pause, and Terry felt like he knew what was coming. He had been spared the lecture about the illusions thus far, but delaying it in perpetuity was asking a bit too much. Sighing, Sirius asked, "White, are you okay? I'm only asking because you've become a master of disguise again. You do know you don't have to hide from the Order, right?"

And now it was time to make up an excuse. Although, telling the truth might work just as well… Terry explained, "I don't want to be recognized, Sirius. Look, you know I have been less than honest about my identity." Understatement of the century. "So, I expect you'd understand I don't want more people recognizing me. Plus, plausible deniability."

Sirius was silent for a moment before admitting, "White, I do get that—honestly—but you really should trust people more. Hypocritical of me, I know, but what's the risk?" Terry could think of many reasons right off the bat, not the least of which was Sirius's reaction. "The people currently in the Order are loyal, and if you can trust Snape with the secret, then—"

"That's different," Terry cut in much more harshly than he intended, but old habits died hard. More calmly, he reiterated, "It's different, Sirius. He saved my life, and I don't know most of the people in the Order. I can't afford to, either. Like it or not, I'm still a spy. For both sides."

"Your loyalties certainly don't lie with Voldemort," Sirius pointed out, insistent. This conversation was going nowhere, fast, and Terry was beginning to remember why the two of them had stopped talking. Sure, they had the same beliefs, but they had always disagreed on how the war should be fought. As a noble Gryffindor, Sirius operated in a world where wars were honorable. Terry was more of a realist and knew there had to be people who did the dirty jobs so others didn't have to. Emotional attachments only led to more pain in the long run. Terry wasn't proud of what he was doing, but it had to be done.

"No, they don't. However, at some point, I will have to do something that will result in the deaths of people on this side, and I'd rather not feel the guilt of being directly responsible for killing a friend," Terry said, his voice steely. He knew enough guilt.

"You make it sound like it's a foregone conclusion," Sirius said, sounding somewhere between disgusted and irritated. It figured; it really did. "From what I can tell, it sounds like you've done a damn good job of avoiding that," he continued before clarifying, definitely angry, "I meant keeping your mouth shut, White, not refraining from human contact."

Terry tensed. He couldn't put up with this. God damn it. Why did Sirius have to go and start this damn conversation again? It was bad enough the first time. He didn't need a repeat of it fifteen years later. Unfortunately, his temper was getting the better of him again, too. Angrily, he challenged, "Really? Letting Bellatrix out of Azkaban doesn't sound like it! Neither does admitting to them that I am a spy! Sirius, I almost got my wife killed!"

Sirius seemed to be calmly watching him now like he was some sort of a bug under a microscope. Granted, Sirius still seemed angry with him, but that was a given. Instead of completely blowing a gasket, Sirius sighed and said with a hint of frustration, "I know, White, but you're going to drive yourself mad if you don't find an outlet for your anger, and if you don't want an outlet, then you have to distance yourself from the violence." He grimaced and murmured, "Take Dorcas for instance. You don't think that's how she really is, do you? Believe it or not, she made sense once. We distract ourselves so we don't have to think about the fighting."

Terry did not understand Sirius sometimes. What the hell was wrong with him? He was supposed to be angry, but he was reining in his anger. After half a minute of silence, Terry said, "That doesn't make any sense, Sirius."

"You sure?" Sirius asked, starting to look concerned again. He looked pensive for a moment before continuing, "Look, White, you need to calm down. If you're such an expert about the Death Eaters, then you know they won't hurt your wife again. Any idiot could tell that her death would throw you solidly in our camp. If they really want you on their side, which they seem to, then they wouldn't dare strike again."

"That's not the point," Terry shouted, standing up. "And you don't know that! For all I know, all bets could be off! Goddamn it, Sirius, stop being so condescending!"

"I'm trying not to, White," he replied, not giving up any ground. "You're the one who's being difficult," Sirius muttered in frustration shortly thereafter. Terry chose to ignore that. Sirius was many things, and patient was not one of them. Neither was he understanding, normally. His annoyance seeping back into his voice, Sirius resumed, "If you really want to waste time feeling sorry for yourself, White, then go ahead, but you'd be better off trying to fix the problem." Terry glared at him, but Sirius grit his teeth and concluded, "If you have to blame someone, for God's sake, stop blaming yourself. The only bloody reason any of us are in this bloody situation is Voldemort's bloody quest for bloody immortality. It's his fucking fault."

"Why do you find it necessary to try and fix my problems? It's not like we have any real reason to be civil to each other," Terry grumbled, sitting back down. It was true, anyway. They didn't. Maybe there was too much bad blood between them, even if Sirius wasn't aware of it. And Terry thought he might be able to tell Sirius the truth!

"Yes, we do. It's our duty to make sure Voldemort is rendered mortal. If we don't, then we are at fault for every life he and his flying monkeys take," Sirius said earnestly, belatedly adding, "No offense, by the way."

"None taken," Terry replied distractedly, more as a reflex than anything. He wanted to stay angry with Sirius, but unfortunately the bloody bastard had given him the mental image of the Order singing that blasted song from _The Wizard of Oz_ over Voldemort's dead body. Resigned to his fate, Terry said, annoyed, "You're despicable, Sirius. That was cheap."

"But it worked," Sirius pointed out, quite proud of himself. His smile refused to go away, and Sirius continued, "Anyway, we should get down to business. I am taking a leave of absence, and I am going to ask Snape to replace me. As a peace offering, I'm asking Dorcas to request that Slughorn return to Hogwarts. She'll be guaranteed to lay it on thick. The plan is set in stone, and nothing you can say will change my mind." Terry had been about to protest, but Sirius's expression left no room for discussion. "How about you?" Sirius asked.

Terry cringed. Well. He had hoped they would not discuss that, but he supposed Sirius should know if only to prevent the ruse from falling apart. "I'm looking for my brother," Terry admitted, feeling like an idiot.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly confused. Terry didn't particularly blame him. He would have blamed him even less if Sirius knew the truth, but he didn't so Terry wasn't going to think about it. Hesitantly, Sirius recalled, "I thought you said that your brother was dead."

Terry thought he had said that he had lost his brother, but maybe he had implied otherwise. He probably had implied otherwise, but Terry knew he hadn't flat out said his brother was dead. It would make for an awkward conversation later if he had. Terry corrected, "No, it's more complicated than that, but the official story is that I finally found a lead on where he might be and am looking for him. That way, if anyone asks where I am, they're told I'm on leave, looking for my long-lost brother."

"But it sounds like you know where he is," Sirius pointed out.

"We're… estranged," Terry explained in a tone of voice he hoped sounded hesitant, wondering why he dragged himself out of bed in the morning. It wasn't worth the effort.

"Oh," Sirius said, respecting Terry's privacy for once. Sirius really was slightly out of his mind, but Terry did wonder what he was thinking. Of course, Terry wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Hesitantly, Sirius asked again, "Are you sure you don't have any advice for talking to Snape?"

Terry decided to be a bit more compromising and said, "Whatever you do, don't call him Snivellus, and for God's sake, do _not_ mention Lily."

* * *

Sirius winced. "Right. I'd almost forgotten about that," he said, feeling guilty. In other news, White was completely out of his mind. Well, that was harsh. White felt guilty about what had happened to his wife, which was understandable, but he seemed to be just going over the edge. Sirius couldn't blame him; he had been worse in the past.

"Good thing I reminded you then," White said, surprised that Sirius had picked up on the fact that the reason James and Snape were mortal enemies had more than a little to do with Lily, Snape's best friend from childhood and the "Light of James's Life." Sirius wasn't as dim as everyone liked to think, but White seemed to underestimate him greatly.

Sirius decided he should suggest the next charitable thing on his agenda. "So, White, are you sick of Dorcas yet?" he asked, knowing there would be chaos if White accepted the offer Sirius would soon make. Granted, Sirius wouldn't mind if Dorcas painted his flat red and gold, but she was the least neat person in the entire universe. Actually, the chaos was probably driving White insane, what with how straight-laced he seemed to be. Sirius found it amusing, now that he thought about it.

White blinked in surprise and looked suspicious. "Are you offering to let her rampage around your flat?" he asked hesitantly. There was no reason for White to be so wary. Sirius wasn't cruel, after all. For most people, Dorcas was only acceptable in small quantities. To be honest, Sirius still wondered how Frank, Remus, and he had survived living in the same flat with her for a year. Frank was obviously the smartest, having escaped first.

Knowing he would indeed come to regret what he was about to say, Sirius replied, "Yes, White, I am indeed offering to let Dorcas 'rampage around my flat.'" A thought then struck Sirius, but he decided not to ask about White's living situation. He probably wasn't going to move back in with his wife, despite what had happened. White was an idiot for trying to distance himself from everyone he cared about. Well, now that Sirius thought about it, White didn't seem to consider his wife as one of the people he emotionally distanced himself from, and he certainly didn't seem to put his children in that category, either. "Dorcas can't be helping much right now," Sirius said.

White grimaced but admitted, "She is driving me a bit mad." It might have been an understatement, but White tended to be honest. Sirius wasn't sure. He could tell White put too much pressure on himself. For example, the idiot had been under the illusion that he could have found and destroyed the horcruxes on his own. Sure, White probably could have, but he also probably wouldn't have lived to see the end of the war. The guilt seemed to be tearing him up, too. Sirius was pretty sure White had been able to ignore the guilt until his wife had been injured. At that point, all his repressed feelings broke loose. The result was the highly irritable mess sitting across the table from Sirius.

"Sorry, then, that I didn't take her off your hands sooner," Sirius said, hoping White wasn't going to start another argument. "My apartment has been empty since the beginning of the school year, but you know Dorcas. She would have found some way to set fire to something old, expensive, and irreplaceable."

With a wince, White nodded and admitted, "Well, she's managed to completely rearrange my flat, but she can cook decently, so we've been living on a steady supply of frozen pizza in addition to ramen and instant soup." Sirius had wondered why White was completely incapable of taking care of himself. His utter lack of culinary expertise apparently did extend to the microwave. Sirius idly wondered if White had the magical ability to burn water. He wouldn't be surprised.

Sirius then remembered the second reason he had brought Dorcas up. "Say, White, did you tell Dorcas where you were going tonight?" he asked. "I would have thought she'd jump at the opportunity to see Moody and wreak havoc."

"I told her the truth. I said I was going to an Order meeting. She told me to tell Tonks she said hi, but Dorcas wants to make her grand entrance later," White explained quite seriously. He seemed to be thinking for a moment before saying, "Sirius, look, um, I know we can complete the mission in about a week, but I think we may want to take our time. Think about it. I mean, if we want to make sure no one makes a connection between the two of us, then we shouldn't be seen together frequently." Sirius was aware of that particular snag in the plan that took a single week. It would have required lots of planning over a small amount of time. That behavior would have raised the suspicion of various people who would like to see White dead and Sirius back in Azkaban or dead.

"You're not omniscient, White. I get it, but you are right about the time frame," Sirius said, hoping he hadn't sounded confrontational. What he meant was that White was on the right page, but his first comment came out a bit wrong. "What sort of time frame do you think would work? I don't know as much about the horcruxes as you probably do, but I didn't find any information on what happens to the creator when a horcrux is destroyed."

White relaxed a little, likely glad he hadn't been forced to admit he didn't know everything. He had taken some offense at Sirius's unintended quip, but he got over it, proving White's nerves weren't completely frayed at the edges. "Exactly," White admitted, glancing toward the door a little paranoiacally. "I figure that we could destroy all of them, and you-know-who wouldn't notice—I cannot believe I just said You-Know-Who—but I'm not positive."

"So you don't want to take the risk. I get that, White," Sirius said, wondering how anyone had been able to take White seriously enough to assign him a mission this important. That said, maybe he figured it out beforehand, so when he volunteered whoever hired him killed two birds with one stone. "What sort of time-frame do you suggest?"

"Something where we meet about once a month," White murmured, sounding unsure. "I figure we go after the diadem first, then the cup. After that, we should retrieve those easily acquired before trying to take on the final horcrux we can destroy." Sirius tried not to look suspicious. The final horcrux they could destroy? That implied that they couldn't destroy at least one. "You don't want to know, Sirius," White told him quietly. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

Sirius set his teeth before replying, "Fine. I won't ask. For now. However, your idea sounds good, but we still need to find something with which to destroy the horcruxes." He wasn't sure he should be sharing this information, but it pertained to the mission, and Dumbledore had to have at least suspected Sirius would tell White. Sirius mentioned, "We can't access the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, unless one of us turns out to be a Parselmouth who's willing to admit it." And, honestly, there were easier ways. "Secondly, we can't borrow Gryffindor's sword. Dumbledore said that he would gladly let us use it if we brought the horcruxes to his office, but I think that's too much of a risk. It's horrible to say, but there are members of the Death Eater Youth at Hogwarts. Plus, Umbridge would probably notice you, Dorcas, and me carrying random knickknacks around the school. She'd try to fire us all until she realized I was the only one who worked there. In any case, we should probably avoid the school after I go on leave so we don't draw suspicion. Therefore, unless you're good with fiendfyre, we have a problem."

White was silent for a moment but murmured, "You're right about Hogwarts. I didn't expect we could get access to the Chamber without Potter, anyway, and monthly trips to the Headmaster's office are suspect. As to fiendfyre, I can cast the spell, but I don't think I could control the fire adequately. If we need to raze a forest, I'm your man, but keeping it contained in a flat is impossible." He obviously hesitated before he continued, "Wouldn't the Black family vault probably have a goblin-forged weapon?"

Sirius made a face but admitted, "Yeah. It does. A number of them. We'd probably want one of the non-cursed ones. If we can get one of the charmed ones, we'd be really lucky." Unless, of course, the only sword left was a completely normal blade. That, or they were stuck with a crossbow or something equally useless. He wondered if the goblins had ever thought about making modern projectile weapons. A shotgun would have been useful.

"Too bad we can't just dump the horcruxes in a volcano," White said, irritated at their lack of a reliable and safe way of disposing of the horcruxes. A volcano wasn't exactly safe, either, but that wasn't the point.

"We could try a volcano with the ring," Sirius suggested, ignoring the glare White sent his way. It wasn't his fault he had a good memory, and White had asked for the _Silmarillion_ to read when he was in the Hospital Wing. "'Course, we can't go to Mount Doom…"

Apparently Snape had passed by the door at that point, because he stopped suddenly in the doorway and stared at Sirius and White for a moment. White was attempting to look innocent, which made Sirius wonder if White had recently made any non sequitur comments about Mount Doom in Snape's presence. Judging by Snape's exasperated expression, Sirius decided that White had. In an irritated voice, Snape deadpanned, "For God's sake, Black, please tell me you did not just suggest that you and White try to destroy Voldemort by throwing a ring into Mount Doom. It will only give him ideas."

Sirius considered making a sarcastic comment but restrained himself, wondering why Snape had stopped in the doorway in the first place. Actually, White had probably said something previously and aggravated Snape to a degree that he had to warn everyone about White's general insanity. Sirius found that amusing. However, he remembered he had business with Snape, who looked generally suspicious because Sirius hadn't started a shouting match. To make sure the greasy-haired git didn't leave, Sirius corrected, "No, he started it. That said, remember how you wish I was still rotting in Azkaban and you had the Defense job?"

Snape stared at Sirius boredly, glanced at White, who was playing innocent, and resumed staring at Sirius boredly. Sighing, he decided to play along and said apathetically, "Yes, Black."

"Well, I'm going to go off and possibly get myself killed or thrown back in prison, so you can have my job," Sirius said cheerfully. He was going to get the most enjoyment out of this as he could. It wasn't every day he could do Snape a good turn, and Sirius wanted to make sure he confused Snape as much as possible in the process. Snape had raised an eyebrow and looked skeptical, so Sirius pressed on, "Don't worry about the potions job, though. I found a replacement, and I'm sure Dorcas can convince Slughorn to resume teaching, so you don't have to worry about Dumbledore saying no. I mean, when the alternative's Umbridge, who would choose her? Oh, and Dorcas is also on the suicidal mission, so you don't have to worry about her dying your hair pink like in seventh year or ever having to talk to her again."

Snape looked over at White, who was in a cooperating mood. With an innocent look on his face, White said honestly, "He's not lying."

Snape blinked once or twice before sighing exasperatedly. Disgruntled, he said, "I'm sorry, but I thought for a moment there I had been dreaming again, but obviously this is a nightmare. I'm going to leave and hope to Merlin I wake up before pink flamingoes rain from the sky." Sirius wondered why Snape had initially thought that this was a dream. Sirius would have pegged it for a nightmare based solely on the setting, even if James had appeared out of nowhere and said the past fifteen years had been his idea of a prank and no, he and Lily weren't dead, but they had run into the Prewett twins in Australia a while back. Judging by the fact Snape hadn't moved from the door, Sirius realized he might have fried Snape's brain, which would be most unfortunate.

"Black?" Snape suddenly said.

"Yes?" Sirius replied, glad he hadn't fried Snape's brain and therefore did not have to explain to Dumbledore why Hogwarts was in need of a potions professor in addition to a Defense teacher. The thought of explaining to the Order that they had lost their only competent spy—White emphatically did not count—had not been particularly pleasant, either.

"You aren't lying, are you," Snape stated with annoyance, regarding Sirius as if he were a slime. Sirius thought it was an upgrade from carnivorous mold, but then most things were an upgrade from carnivorous mold. He started to wonder if he was a bit nervous, because he was feeling kind of hyperactive and rambling mentally.

"I already told you he wasn't!" White protested ineffectively. Sirius and Snape both ignored him. White seemed resigned to that fact but fumed silently nonetheless.

"No," Sirius replied, still obnoxiously cheerful, "I'm not. There may have been a 50 percent chance of flamingo showers this afternoon, but I am not lying." Yes, Sirius was definitely nervous about Snape telling him to go to hell if he started speaking his mental nonsense.

"Now you're just mocking me, Black," Snape said flatly, preparing to ignore Sirius, who wasn't completely sure if Snape believed him or not. Well, the mocking was counterproductive, but it was Snivellus. He couldn't resist.

Fine. He should act like a responsible adult before Snape walked away and refused to listen to him. Couldn't jeopardize the outcome of the war, after all. Serious for once, Sirius calmed himself down and said, "All joking aside, Snape, you will take the job, right? I don't want to condemn the children to weeks, much less a semester, of Umbridge's teaching. She's the scum of the earth. You know all the material, and…" Sirius couldn't think of what to say after that aside from generally insulting Snape. He ended up saying, "Well, the enemy you know, right?"

Snape sneered and said sarcastically, "Oh, thank God. I was afraid for a moment that you had been put under the Imperius or abducted by aliens and replaced with a pseudo-you, the idea of which is horrifying in and of itself." After a moment, however, he continued, "In my estimation, I suppose you've elevated yourself from the level of the ebola virus to a carnivorous slime mold with this out-of-character act of… whatever your intentions truly are." Sirius was not sure if that was a compliment. Snape continued contemptuously, "Whatever the case, if you can convince Slughorn to replace me or, even better, find another potions master none of us know, then I would be glad to take your job. I hope you and Meadowes find disturbing ways to commit suicide by proxy before either of you decide to contribute to the gene pool."

"No death wish for White?" Sirius asked, deciding the younger man had been left out of the conversation for far too long.

Snape leveled a glare at Sirius and replied flatly, "No. It's too late. He's already bred."

"Oh, well, that's a pity."

"I'm still sitting here, you know," Terry protested indignantly, arms crossed.

Sirius and Snape continued to ignore White. They were apparently too busy staring each other down. Sirius did say, "Well, that's all." He paused before he continued, "By the way, we never had this conversation, and we certainly have never been anywhere near civil. The mere thought is disturbing. On a related note, why flamingoes?"

"Go fuck yourself, Black," Snape snapped and departed from the room with a swoosh of his robes, looking thoroughly like an overgrown, disgruntled bat. Of course, that meant that Snape indeed did agree with what had been said. Mission accomplished.

"That was bloody brilliant," White said sarcastically. Sirius had to fight to keep from slapping White upside the head and settled for grinning as White sat in his chair, looking thoroughly petulant. The younger man seemed to be less upset than earlier, although Sirius might have been imagining things.

Sirius shrugged and said calmly, "Well, I did try to be civil."

White groaned and slammed his forehead against the table, causing Kreacher to appear. Kreacher started to make some generally acidic comment about Sirius and how loud he was before noticing it was White who was making the noise. The house elf wisely said, "Kreacher thinks it best to leave the masters alone," and disappeared as quickly as he came.

Sirius grinned and commented idly, "Hey, White, I think Kreacher likes you." For his part, White continued to bludgeon himself with the table.

* * *

_**Notes**: Happy Holidays! Also... Er, my uber-late update has absolutely nothing to do with Doctor Who. At all. Or my marathoning it during the holidays. Seriously, though, I was without internet for a while, and I apologize for the delay in updating after the holidays.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Hermione and Ginny have a conversation, Gemma overhears a conversation, and Regulus deals with the aftermath.  
_


	36. Empty As A Pocket With Nothing to Lose

_I apologize in advance for my French.  


* * *

_Dorcas Meadowes had mixed feelings about her current situation. On one hand, she had been Blackmailed into talking to Horace Slughorn. She had weathered that unpleasant task, sacrificing an entire afternoon talking to Slughorn for the brothers Black. On the bright side, she had then received an eviction notice from Regulus and shortly followed by the key to Sirius's flat. Now she had the flat all to herself for about a week, at which point Sirius would be moving back in. It would be exactly like old times, except Remus was off doing his tragic lone wolf thing and Frank was… Well, Frank was unavailable.

Still. Five glorious days to herself! She had spent them well. Sirius had given Dorcas temporary access to his bank account, so she had immediately started renting movies and watching television. Yes, she had marginally stayed in contact with the outside world thanks to Narcissa's obsession with shopping and Dorcas's negotiating skills, but it had been more of an excuse on Narcissa's part to buy Muggle haute couture. They both had known Dorcas didn't want to stay locked in a room in the basement and would have gone shopping with the Shopping Queen regardless, but Dorcas could have been a lot more disgruntled about it. However, Dorcas needed to do some research with regards to what she had missed on the telly.

Best of all as a result of her new accommodations, Dorcas could sleep in the spare room with no qualms. That was glorious. She didn't have to worry about anyone, and she could sleep in till the late morning and occasionally the early afternoon. She didn't have to prevent Regulus or Sirius from having a nervous breakdown. Ah, it was like heaven, except with endless credit and beer.

Dorcas did wonder what everyone was up to, but their business was probably boring. Regulus's cover story was apparently looking for Sirius, which Dorcas found endlessly amusing. Reggie was going to have one hell of a time explaining that to his older brother. However, Dorcas supposed that Regulus was spending time with his wife, who Dorcas had recently discovered was named Vesta. One of the brothers may have informed her earlier, but Dorcas had forgotten until she rediscovered the information. Well, Regulus might have been doing governmenty things, too, but Dorcas didn't think he was in a proper mental place for actual job-like activities, even if Reggie's multitasking skills had once been a thing of legend.

Sirius, on the other hand, was still at school, teaching or giving exams or whatnot. Dorcas had forgotten if they had exams before winter break or only at the end of the school year. She was pretty sure that it was only at the end of the school year and that the semester exam system was from horror stories she heard from university students (i.e. Lily, Remus, Regulus, etc.). Or she was blocking out the memories of Auror training. It might have been Auror training. Sirius would know. He never forgot anything.

Dorcas, however, was content not remembering. She would prefer not to remember Lily's smile or Fabian's antics or Marlene's crazy mothering habits or Caradoc's cat-like reflexes. Better to block it out and concentrate on the good news. Sirius was fine, and Regulus had finally developed a sixth sense for trouble, and… and that didn't make any of the others less dead.

Luckily, Dorcas knew where Sirius hid his hard liquor. She then settled down to watch a show called _Law & Order_. It seemed to be the only program that the channel showed, but she didn't mind. She would see Sirius and probably Regulus soon, and she could talk to them and forget again. And even later, maybe she could even serve up some revenge cold.

* * *

Hermione wondered if all boys were clueless and if they ever improved. Some did, but it was quite apparent that many didn't, although she supposed the faculty of Hogwarts were not the shining examples of mental stability she once thought they were. Binns could be excused, even though he was obviously refusing to acknowledge his lack of a pulse. Hermione really had expected better of Professor Vector, but she supposed prolonged exposure to Sirius was adequate to drive anyone insane. Not that Hermione had anything against Sirius, whom she had known was not quite sane for a very long time. She did figure that the reason Professor Vector was acting spare was that Sirius was so bloody clueless.

Hermione had likewise come to the conclusion that the only truly normal teachers in the entire school were Professors Sprout, Hooch, Flitwick, and McGonagall. Snape used to be on the list, but he was spending far too much time around that man related to Professor Vector. Professor Sinistra was the poster child of the scatter-brained, but Hermione had to correct herself and admit that Professor Burbage was okay, too. She still tried not to think of Trelawney. Hagrid wasn't really in the same category, but the only reason Hermione would consider Hagrid weird was his habit of finding dangerous animals adorable. Like giant three-headed dogs and baby dragons. (Hermione did agree about the dragon, not that she would admit that to anyone.)

Why had Hermione gone off on this tangent again? Oh, yes, Ron was absolutely clueless. Ginny had decided it was incurable, but Hermione hoped against hope. SPEW wasn't exactly helping things, but she knew she had to keep soldiering on. Yes, many house elves did seem to enjoy their jobs, but they should have equal rights under the law. Dobby was doing fine and enjoyed his clothes and new rights, but Winky had reacted very poorly and in the process had become an alcoholic. At least, Hermione assumed that an addiction so severe to butterbeer was alcoholism. She knew that the drink came in two forms, but she strongly suspected Winky favored the alcoholic one.

Hermione considered what Kreacher's reaction would be were he freed. Sirius had said giving Kreacher his freedom would probably give the house elf a heart attack in addition to being a risk to the Order. Hermione had tried to be nice to Kreacher, but he had only been abrasive in return. Sirius had ordered Kreacher to stop calling her names when he had overheard one of Hermione's attempts at talking to Kreacher. The wizard and the house elf seemed to ignore each other for the most part, although Sirius had told Kreacher to do whatever the house elf pleased, within reason. Reason, of course, was not selling out the Order to the Death Eaters or calling anyone racial slurs. Hermione wondered for a moment what Grimmauld would have been like had Sirius not been exonerated. She did not want to dwell on that thought.

Thankfully, Ginny saved Hermione from her dark musings and asked, "Hermione, what exactly is so interesting in the passing countryside? I know Ron and Harry are off defending your honor against Malfoy, Neville's asleep, and Luna's off 'exacting retribution on the war goddess and the platyroo' for one reason or another, but I'm still sitting here."

A little embarrassed, Hermione sighed and explained, "I was just thinking about everything, you know? How some of the teachers seem to be more on edge this year, my complete and utter failure to raise enrolments for SPEW." She smiled and admitted, "At least the DA's going well."

Ginny nodded sagely. "Yes, it is," she said, as if they were conspiring. "Can you believe that Umbridge has been given as much power as she has been? I mean, she's as much as fired Trelawney, which isn't too much of a travesty, but that's not the point."

Hermione knew what most had been outraged by: the dissolution of all clubs, including Quidditch. It had been Umbridge's rather unsuccessful attempt to curb the surprise attacks the twins and Lee Jordan had been springing lately. Umbridge had figured the actions were a result of inter-house cooperation, which was true, but the students used Arithmancy class to develop tactics instead of Umbridge's club theory. Of course, the Defense Association was formed as a result of the Inquisitorial order. Harry suggested the name because the initials could be mistaken by Umbridge to mean "Dumbledore's Army." Hermione had said that in addition to planning how best to subvert Umbridge they should at least make some effort of practicing what the club title implied. Hermione had even gone as far as to suggest that they be even more subversive and actually ask permission as a club to form, just to grind salt in the wound.

Of course, they had to find a faculty advisor (otherwise known as the adult coconspirator whom Harry, the Weasley twins, and a good half of the DA had suggested). Unfortunately, Sirius had said no, adding something to the effect that every good secret society worth their weight in gold didn't look to be above board. Hermione figured it had more to do with the fact that Umbridge could legitimately hold Sirius responsible for whatever the DA did, and if Sirius were sacked like Trelawney had been, then Umbridge would probably become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "Ginny, do you think that Sirius was right not to get mixed up in the feud between the DA and Umbridge?" Hermione asked pensively. "I have a feeling that he might have been, but I think he wasn't saying everything."

"Well, I agreed with the initial idea that we go legitimate, but Sirius was the worst idea for faculty advisor. We should have gone to McGonagall," Ginny replied confidently. "You've noticed that she thinks Umbridge is a blight. I mean, she's more subtle than Professor Sinistra, but if you look very hard, you can tell." Ginny paused, though, when she thought about what else Hermione had raised. With a grimace, Ginny continued, "In reply to that other thing, yeah, I think something's up. Honestly, I don't think he's coming back for the next semester."

Hermione's shoulders sagged, and she said, "So you picked up on that, too? I was hoping it was a figment of my imagination. I mean, why would he—" Hermione realized that was the real reason Sirius had refused to help the DA become a legitimate club. "Ginny, that's why he didn't want to get involved with the DA, isn't it? He's leaving."

"Probably," Ginny agreed. Honestly, Hermione had actually enjoyed Defense class this year. She still thought Professor Lupin was a better teacher, but she was under the impression that Sirius thought so, too. "Who do you think's going to replace him?" Ginny asked. "As Harry reminds us all incessantly, Snape's been after the job for years, but Umbridge was second in line to have gotten the job this year. Also, if Harry turned out to be right—Merlin forbid—then who in the world would teach potions? Oh my God, I might actually have to pay attention."

"I don't know, but I don't think Sirius would leave if Umbridge were the only option," Hermione said. "For all we know, he might even have asked Professor Lupin to replace him."

Ginny considered that for a moment and replied, "I don't think we'll be that lucky." Both girls were silent for a moment before Ginny asked, "Hey, Hermione, when do you think Sirius would tell all of us he was leaving? I mean, we both think he's not going to come back next semester, but he didn't say anything on the last day of classes."

Hermione grimaced and replied, "Well, I don't believe he particularly wants to think about it, either. For all we know, Dumbledore might have been the one who suggested that Sirius take time off." Ginny looked at Hermione in surprise, so Hermione explained, "He's not completely right, you know. In the head. I'm not saying Dumbledore would make him step down, but all this might have been too much, too soon."

Ginny looked confused but reasoned, "So you're saying that Sirius might have some unresolved issues that would prevent him from teaching. Or something." Hermione nodded, so Ginny thought about it for a moment before declaring, "I don't think that's it. Sure, Sirius probably has issues up the wazoo, but I think he's been doing fine, aside from all the idiot rumors my brothers seem intent on spreading. If Dumbledore's involved at all, I'd say Sirius has been sent off on a mission for the Order. Same thing happened with Hagrid."

"That's true. It could fit, too," Hermione admitted. Actually, what she had suggested before could be a good cover for an Order mission. Sirius had been frequently seen around that man related to Professor Vector. Maybe they were working together? "Harry said Sirius was gone during the afternoon for a couple days at the beginning of the month," Hermione mentioned, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. "Professor Vector took a couple of days off around the same time, too…"

Ginny raised an eyebrow before grinning. "So you do think they're together," she concluded triumphantly. Hermione was about to protest, but she gave it up for lost. It was true, after all. At least according to Ron, who felt he was very unlucky this year for that exact reason. Ginny continued, "You think they're going to elope or something? That would be bloody brilliant. The curse of the Defense post continues!"

Hermione sighed and corrected, "No, I don't think they're going to run off together. That's far too cliché. I was thinking about Professor Vector's cousin. She was attacked by some Death Eaters at the beginning of the month, which was why we didn't have Arithmancy for a couple days, so I thought there might have been a correlation."

Ginny nodded, not believing her for a second, until she seemed to realize something and her eyes widened like saucers. "Hermione, you heard about how the wife of some American muckity-muck was attacked on the twenty-ninth of November, right?" Ginny asked hesitantly.

"Well, yes. It was in the _Daily Prophet_ and everything. Apparently the woman had been visiting her sister when it had happened and was hospitalized for at least two weeks. From the way it was described in the paper, it sounds like the ambassador made no friends when she sent her aide to the Ministry," Hermione relayed. She had wondered why Ginny thought of that. The two incidents couldn't have been related. Could they? Hermione questioned, "You don't think she and Professor Vector's cousin are the same person, do you? That would make the ambassador's aide that man who was in the Hospital Wing for two weeks."

Ginny was absolutely stunned and exclaimed, "You mean he's that bloke who ran around the school like a loony while Sirius, Lupin, and Snape had to track him down? Merlin's holy socks!" Despite being stunned at the apparent revelation, Ginny continued, "That makes sense, actually, because then Sirius could be working with said bloke on a mission for the Order." Hermione made a noncommittal sound in agreement, which prompted Ginny to say sneakily, "So you really do think Sirius and Professor Vector are together?"

Hermione groaned in frustration before protesting, "It was Ron's idea in the first place!"

"What was Ron's idea?" Harry asked, back from waging war with the Slytherins. Ron was absent, so Harry had probably returned for backup. Hermione decided she had the worst luck, or Harry had the luck of the gods.

"Hey, Harry," Ginny chirped. Hermione sent her a warning glare. Ginny was looking slightly demonic, so Hermione wasn't sure if she could trust Ginny to keep her mouth shut about Ron's brilliant deductions. Granted, faced with Ron's boggart, Harry had decided that Ron had an overactive imagination and that he should have stuck with spiders. Ginny decided to spare Hermione's sanity and be beneficent, because she continued, "We were just talking about what we were going to do over Christmas when we're at Grimmauld."

"Oh, well, I was sent back from the front to report that Draco's barfing slugs and ask for orders," Harry said, feeling slightly silly. Hermione didn't blame him. She wondered who had sent him, because that communiqué didn't sound like Ron. Harry had used his vast powers of observation and continued, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. Luna said it. She was there because she apparently had some unfinished business with some first-years who now are mostly green."

Ginny nodded and explained, "Apparently the girl—her name starts with an A, possibly; I can't remember—but she and her friend, that skittish blond boy most of the Slytherins seem to ignore or have disowned, were rather mean to Luna a couple of days ago, so she's been plotting her version of revenge." Ginny paused for a moment before asking, "Can they still speak English?"

"No. They're speaking foreign languages. The boy sounds like he's speaking Russian, but the girl's speaking German," Harry replied with a shrug. "Luna was very thorough. I wouldn't want to be them right now. That Gryffindor girl from the train at the beginning of the year started to tell Luna off, though, after the Slytherin girl rushed off to fetch her."

"Her name is Gemma, Harry," Hermione reminded him for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "How do you keep forgetting this? You've spoken to her at least twice during meals this year, in addition to that one time we passed her in the hall." Harry seemed to try to remember, and Hermione continued, "In any case, what exactly does Luna want us to say?"

Harry answered, "I don't know, and I don't pretend to know. Luna seems to be happy playing General Montgomery. I think I'm going to retire from the battle; Ron was thinking of retreating, too." He sat down next to Hermione, who was across from Neville, and asked, "So how much of Grimmauld do you think we're going to be attempting to retake over the holidays?"

Ginny groaned and said, "I hope we'll be spared the bother. I swear to Merlin that Kreacher's been putting more dust around when nobody's looking. It's the only explanation." She rolled her eyes and continued, "I don't know how you can talk to that house elf, Hermione. He's the most belligerent being I've ever met, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret included."

Hermione decided to spare them the lecture about SPEW and admitted, "Kreacher is difficult to talk to, but I don't think he'd purposefully make the house dirtier. He kept the master bedroom spotless, after all. There was a massive doxy infestation, but keeping that house clean must be no mean task for a single house elf."

"More work for the rest of us, then," Ginny complained darkly.

Harry nodded in agreement and said, "Well, on the bright side, this year's actually been pretty good so far, aside from the house-cleaning. I mean, hey, no one's tried to kill me yet!" Hermione groaned, and Ginny tried not to laugh. Harry continued reflectively, "Actually, it's sort of sad when you judge how things are going by whether or not there's been an attempt on your life."

Hermione was about to comment when Ron burst into the compartment and quickly shut the door behind him. Neville woke at the noise, looking confused, so Ron quickly explained, "You don't want to know." There were sounds of fighting from the corridor and a shout of "_Vive la résistance! La république endurera! Périssez, vous collabos__!_" Ron reiterated, "You really don't want to know."

Despite her brother's warning, Ginny asked, "Was that Luna?"

"_Ouais ! Je rentrerai avec la fille d'__Aschere __! Il faut que nous punissions la déesse de la guerre, le troisième et le furet rebondissant ! Ah ! Vous démons ! Ne courez pas ! Est-ce que vous vous sentez d'avoir de la chance ? Bien, vous sentez-vous, vous punks ?_"

Neville raised an eyebrow, and Ginny muttered, "Never mind."

* * *

Gemma wondered why Professor Black was standing at the front door, apparently working up the courage to knock. He was being quite silly, if anyone thought to ask Gemma. However, no one did. She was sitting on the couch in the front room, reading. Macha was glaring at her from across the room, still angry about the day before. Gemma hadn't meant to laugh when Luna had extracted her revenge upon the three Slytherins, although she had been laughing more about the donkey ears Luna had bestowed upon Malfoy than Macha's fate. As far as Gemma was concerned, Smith had received what he deserved. She didn't much like him. Leo vaguely agreed, but he kept his mouth shut about it. Speaking of Leo, he was also in the room, but he was trying not to become involved in the silent argument between his sister and his cousin.

As far as Gemma knew, Uncle Terry was rushing around the house, doing Aunt Vesta's bidding. Gemma could tell he was coming apart at the seams. Even Diana had noticed, and as a result wouldn't stop apologizing for not more than she had during the Death Eater attack, but it sounded like she couldn't have helped Aunt Vesta more than she had. Gemma had overheard her mum talking to Diana, and apparently that really dangerous lady Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange, had been one of the people who hurt Aunt Vesta. Gemma didn't ever want to meet that woman, and she had the feeling that Uncle Terry was really scared of her, too.

Finally, Professor Black muttered something to himself and knocked on the door. Gemma didn't move to go answer. Macha noticed Gemma's lack of reaction and assumed it was only Diana at the door, having forgotten her keys, and so Macha wandered off, presumably into the kitchen. Leo, in his typical fashion, followed his sister with an apologetic glance towards Gemma, who continued to read.

Gemma's mum, on the other hand, raced down the stairs, completely unaware of Gemma's presence in the front room. Gemma couldn't see past the Christmas tree, but she supposed that her mum was fixing her hair, because her mum paused for a moment before opening the door. "Ah—Sirius, I wasn't expecting you," her mum said, thankfully not as socially impaired as she could be. Gemma had half expected her mum to ask what he was doing at the house. On the bright side, she'd actually formed a complete sentence.

Professor Black wasn't nearly as eloquent at the moment, because there was a noticeable pause before he spoke. "Well, I… I was going to call, but if you're busy, I'll just go," he said haltingly. Gemma heard the snow crunch as he turned to leave.

"No," her mother said. Gemma could only assume her mum had grabbed Professor Black's wrist to stop him, because she couldn't see him out the window. That, or Professor Black had just stopped. "No, I didn't mean that. I was just surprised," Gemma's mother clarified. There was some more silence before she continued, "Why don't you come in? It must be freezing outside."

"Um, thank you," Professor Black said. He must have stepped through the front door, because Gemma heard the door shut shortly thereafter. Gemma wondered why he was behaving as if he were embarrassed. That wasn't like her professor in the slightest. What reason did he have to feel that way? Wasn't he going out with her mum? "I thought I should drop by to tell you in person," Professor Black began, sounding reluctant. "White's probably told you about his plan, right?"

Gemma's mother was silent. What were they talking about, anyway? What was Uncle Terry up to this time? "Yes, he mentioned he was going to do something damnably stupid," Gemma's mother told him, starting to sound like she didn't like the direction in which the conversation was heading. Gemma didn't, either, but she was in no position to say anything. She was eavesdropping, after all. "You're going to help him, aren't you?" Gemma's mother continued, now definitely sounding upset, but she seemed to have been expecting what Professor Black had said.

"I'm sorry, 'Sia. I have to do this," Professor Black said, sounding upset, too.

"Why?" Gemma's mother demanded. "Why do you have to go? You said you wouldn't! You promised, Sirius!" she continued, sounding somewhere between angry and scared. Gemma started to doubt the intelligence of her decision to remain in the front room. Maybe if she jumped behind the couch, no one would notice. She decided that it was better to do so regardless. No one noticed her move. Gemma continued to wonder what her mother and Professor Black were talking about.

"I'm not going to leave, 'Sia," Professor Black tried to reassure her. He stopped again to gather his thoughts before continuing almost painfully, "I'm not returning to Hogwarts for the second semester, but I'm not leaving. As far as the Ministry knows, I'm on psychiatric leave because of post-traumatic stress disorder and survivor's guilt, or whatever's wrong with me, and I realized that I need to sort all of that out." Gemma wondered how much it cost him to admit that, because it sure sounded like it did.

Surprised, Gemma's mother repeated, "You're going to get help?" It sounded like she sat down on the stairs and sighed. "I didn't think you would," she continued softly. She laughed bitterly and assumed, "You're only going to therapy because it's a cover, aren't you?"

"I've handled it all just fine up until now, haven't I?" Professor Black demanded harshly, sounding surprisingly defensive.

Gemma's mother definitely sighed this time, and Gemma could easily imagine her frowning severely and covering her mouth with her hand. Very quietly, her mother countered, "You've never been able to deal with it, Sirius. You weren't able to cope with what happened to James and Lily; you weren't able to deal with what happened to Dorcas or Marlene or Fabian or Gideon." Her voice turning steely, Gemma's mother continued, "And you certainly weren't able to cope with your brother's murder or what your mother put you through."

At that point, Gemma realized Macha and Leo had had the right idea. They got out while they still could. She really did not want to overhear an argument between her mother and her teacher, and it seemed like there was one brewing, even if Professor Black was still silent. Maybe that was what Gemma found unnerving; that he was still silent. "Did I ever tell you what happened the summer fifth-year?" he started quietly, confusing Gemma. Shouldn't he have lost his temper? Or been even slightly angry? Or anything? "I tried to kill myself, 'Sia. Dad ruined one of his suits trying to keep me alive, there was so much blood. He's the one that suggested I run away. He didn't want to see me hurt anymore, I guess. I wouldn't have gone, otherwise, because I was a self-destructive coward, but if I'd stayed, then—then maybe Reggie wouldn't have been hurt." Professor Black made a kind of hurt noise before he tried to explain, his voice thick with far too much emotion for Gemma's liking, "I know I can't deal with any of it, but, Goddamn it, I don't think I should." Gemma barely heard Professor Black murmur, "I just want it to go away, 'Sia. God, it just won't go away."

Gemma decided the sounds she heard next weren't sobs. Boys, especially grown men, didn't cry. Wasn't that a rule or something? Gemma heard her mother stand and walk over to Professor Black. Sounding slightly muffled, Gemma's mother murmured, "Sirius… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Some time passed before Professor Black seemed to have regained control of himself and said levelly, "No. No, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have said anything." It sounded like he had stepped back and sighed. "I shouldn't have broken down like that, either," he continued, sounding angry with himself. "I've completely fucked this up, haven't I?"

Gemma assumed her mother smiled reassuringly before she gently replied, "No, Sirius, it's not your fault. It was stupid of me to assume you were going to drop off the face of the earth again." There was a second of silence before Gemma's mother continued, "I think I may know why you're doing this, Sirius, and if I'm right, I understand."

"It's what got Reg killed," Professor Black murmured.

"I figured as much," Gemma's mother softly replied. She sighed and asked, sounding slightly desperate, "You're staying in London, though. Aren't you?" Gemma was surprised by the tone of her mother's voice. It sounded like her mum wasn't going to chase Professor Black away. On the contrary, really. Of course, her mum had told her that the two of them had always been close. On the other hand, Gemma was slightly afraid because of what Professor Black had said. How well did her mum really know him if she hadn't known about something as important as what he had said only moments before?

"Yeah, I am," Professor Black admitted, sounding very serious. "White thinks what we're looking for is still in Britain, so London's as good a place to live as any."

"Oh," Gemma's mother said, sounding apprehensive. Hesitantly, she asked, "You will visit, right?" Gemma didn't like the fact that her mum's voice sounded so fragile when she had asked that, but neither did appreciate the implication that her professor wasn't going to be coming back to teach for the second term. "Or at least write?"

"I—Of course, 'Sia. I'll visit. I don't know when I'll be able to visit, but I will," Professor Black replied. Gemma wondered if he was always sounded so depressed when talking to her mother. "I promise I will."

"Good. I'll hold you to that, Black," Gemma's mother said with a note of finality. There was another pause—Gemma was getting tired of these damned pauses; what was so bloody important that they wouldn't speak properly about anything—before Gemma's mother continued with some reservation, "Look, Sirius, I need to tell you something. When the war ended, I—"

Gemma couldn't hear what followed, because the unholy racket her uncle made as he essentially tripped down the stairs covered what her mother said. She could tell that Uncle Terry was the distraction simply because he was simply the only one who could have made that much noise. He was pretty much an utter loon sometimes. "Er—Hi, guys," Uncle Terry said nervously, ostensibly being stared down by Gemma's mum and Professor Black, both of whom were not particularly pleased with him. "I'll just go now," he said quickly, having caved in to the combined glares of Gemma's mum and Professor Black.

Oddly, however, he then stepped into the front room and stopped in front of the couch as Gemma's mum and Professor Black went into the dining room. Uncle Terry stood there for a moment before leaning over and saying, "It's okay, Gemma. You can come out now." He was smiling kind of sadly, but otherwise he seemed pretty relaxed.

Gemma stared at her uncle, wide-eyed. She glanced quickly in the direction of the dining room. "Are you sure?" she asked quietly. "I don't want Mum to think I was eavesdropping on purpose, but I couldn't just stand up, 'cause she and Professor Black were talking about very serious things, and then Professor Black mentioned he'd tried to kill himself this one time, and I decided it would not be the smartest thing in the world to show myself then." Gemma continued to stare at her uncle, really afraid of what he was thinking.

Uncle Terry, on the other hand, looked kind of distraught, which Gemma found confusing. However, Uncle Terry smiled again almost immediately, causing Gemma to wonder if she had imagined her uncle looking so sad. "Yes, Gemma, it's all right," he said gently. "Hey, do you want to come with me to go get dinner for your aunt? She desires Thai food. That said, your cousins said they wanted pizza earlier, and Diana called and said pork ramen will suffice." Grinning in one of his ridiculous moods, Uncle Terry asked, "So what say you?"

"I'll come," Gemma said with a slight smile. She stood up and jumped over the couch. Feeling a little better, she asked her uncle, "Why do you insist on acting so crazy?"

"It's your father's fault. He went and drove me insane," Uncle Terry replied with a grin, ruffling her hair. Gemma's eyes widened. Did her uncle say what she thought he did? She had thought he knew who her father was! (Gemma chose to discount the possibility that her mother was refusing to talk about. It would be doubly weird were what her mother denied true, because Uncle Terry was completely insane and couldn't be right about anything by definition.) Uncle Terry raised an eyebrow when he noticed that Gemma had a shocked look on her face. With a laugh, he told her, "Go get your coat, _petite gemme_. We can stop by that French bakery you love so much."

Gemma sent her uncle an irritated look. Damn him for bribing her with French pastry.

* * *

Terry was relieved that he had managed to convince Gemma to leave the house. He had heard what passed for conversation nowadays between Sirius and Artemesia and figured that Gemma was probably still in the front room, listening. As a matter of chance, Vesta had asked him to go out and get her dinner. Of course, as he had walked down the stairs he had heard Artemesia about to admit that Gemma was Sirius's daughter, hence Terry's spectacular fall down the stairs. Artemesia had just stared at him before shaking her head. Sirius, of course, had stared at him with the expression he always used when Terry did something idiotic. However, Artemesia seemed to have realized why Terry had fallen down the stairs and had taken Sirius into another room.

That said, Terry hadn't been able to school his expression when Gemma told him she had heard about one of Sirius's suicide attempts. Artemesia would never have mentioned that, so Sirius had to have said it. Terry just hadn't been able to keep from remembering when his father had run down the stairs, covered in blood, and ordered him to go stay in the kitchen until he came back. Terry remembered visiting the hospital the next day, too. Sirius had been so pale and refused to make eye contact with his younger brother, much less speak to him. Sirius ran away a couple weeks later.

Thankfully, Gemma didn't try to figure out why Terry had been a little distant for a moment, and it had been relatively easy to bribe her out of the house. Gemma had the same weakness for obscenely buttery crescent rolls that her father had. Fine, so Terry liked them too, but that was beside the point. Of course, it boggled the mind how he had managed to end up carrying the Thai food, pizza, and some general groceries while Gemma only had the bag from the bakery. Terry found this vastly unfair.

Gemma was on her second croissant when they returned to the house. Diana approached Terry immediately and demanded her ramen, only departing once she had complained about Artemesia's requisition of the dining room. Terry internally groaned at that while Gemma made off with the pizza and groceries. He went upstairs to deliver the Thai food to Vesta only to discover she was in fact downstairs in the kitchen with everyone but Artemesia and Sirius. Vesta then told him to go drag Artemesia out of the dining room, giving Terry the feeling that Artemesia and Sirius had continued to have a rather tumultuous conversation after he left.

Apparently Terry was feeling particularly suicidal, because he did indeed go to knock on the door to the dining room. He was trying not to think about what would await him if he were just to walk into the room. However, Sirius opened the door, looking vaguely confused, and asked, "White? What do you want?"

Terry raised an eyebrow. That said, he knew that this was par for the course, but it was his imperative to give Sirius a hard time. "Well, I live here, and I was just going to see if Artemesia would like any dinner before the three teenagers and the starving grad student eat everything in the house," Terry explained, wondering what in the hell Sirius and Artemesia had been talking about.

Before Sirius could reply, Artemesia stalked past him, silently fuming. Terry chose not to make a smart remark, which seemed to be the wise course of action. "I told her I was going on leave, White," Sirius explained before Terry could ask. "She got pissed off at me because I don't want to actually try to work things out with a psychiatrist unless it involved medication."

Terry cursed mentally. Artemesia hadn't told Sirius about the kids, then. He couldn't have let Gemma find out that way, but Terry had caused the argument to escalate instead of letting it defuse itself. If Artemesia had told Sirius… Damn. Terry was about to ask what exactly had happened when he noticed something looked a little off. "Your shirt's buttoned up wrong," Terry observed. Sirius had always had the tendency to button his shirt lopsidedly when he was distracted. When he realized what exactly his observation meant, Terry groaned and exclaimed, wishing his imagination wasn't quite so overactive, "In the dining room?!" Realizing how loud he had said that, Terry hoped no one in the kitchen had heard him.

Face flushed, Sirius protested, "Hey! Firstly, that's unsanitary. Secondly, do you really think we'd do that in the dining room when we're only a couple rooms away from her bedroom?" He stared at Terry like the latter was insane and shook his head. Looking down, he said, "Shit, you're right. I did button my shirt wrong. Have I been walking around like this all day? God dammit."

As Sirius fixed his shirt, Terry asked, chagrined, "So, Artemesia was in fact pissed at me, wasn't she?" Judging by the fact that Sirius didn't deign to answer and looked vaguely amused by the question, Terry continued fatalistically, "Oh, goddamn shit bugger fuck."

"White, you were doomed already," Sirius mentioned nonchalantly, checking he hadn't buttoned the shirt wrong again. He had in fact done so in the past (Terry could attest to that). "She's going to have a very long talk with you about when not to interfere in a conversation."

Generally frustrated, Terry snapped back, "Well, if Artemesia'd noticed that Gemma had been in the front room when she first came downstairs, then I wouldn't have had to interrupt." And Terry should not have said that, not at all. He had the luck of the bloody gods today.

Sirius blanched and managed to say, "What?" Clearly, he did not want to believe what Terry had just said, and to tell the truth, Terry wished he were lying, too. Sirius continued, still shocked, "You—you mean she heard—She heard it all?" His face was ashen as he remembered, "Oh, God, I mentioned I'd…"

"She heard everything, Sirius," Terry affirmed reluctantly, looking off to the side. Why could he not keep his mouth shut? Apparently if he wasn't trying to hide something of international importance, Terry was the worst person at keeping secrets in the entire bloody world. That, or he had issues lying to Sirius. Actually, the latter made more sense. Nineteen years of ingrained habit were hard to break. "She seemed more upset for you than afraid of you, if that helps any," Terry added weakly.

Sirius hesitated before he asked, "What did you tell her?"

Terry bit his lip. Shit. Well, why start lying now? He'd already dug himself a grave. Might as well fill it up, too. Terry steeled himself and replied, "Well, I tried to explain that you hadn't had a good home life growing up and that what you were talking about was a lot more complicated than it sounded."

Acidly, Sirius said, "I take it Reg told you about all that, too?" Oh, fuck. Terry did not want to be the cause of an argument between the two of them. It would be far too surreal. Plus, he had suffered enough conversation about himself in the third person.

"No. I had a feeling, and you've a tendency to oversimplify painful memories," Terry explained, hoping that would be enough to keep Sirius from getting angry with him, as in Regulus. Terry was okay with Sirius being angry with Terry, because he could fix that rather easily, but he couldn't talk Sirius out of being angry with Regulus without telling him the whole truth, which would end with Sirius never speaking to him again. Ever. Hence why he was going to try to defuse the situation first.

Sirius looked skeptical, but he let Terry's explanation pass. Grimacing, he said, "Well, I suppose that's fine. What you said to Gemma, I mean." He seemed conflicted for a moment but continuing a little wistfully, "She's a good kid. Smart, too."

Terry wasn't sure who he was more frustrated with: Artemesia, for failing to repeat what she had said, or Sirius, for failing to connect the bloody dots. It wasn't that difficult, for Merlin's sake! Then again, Artemesia might have sworn Sirius to secrecy. Terry considered that possibility for about half a nanosecond before deciding that his initial thought was probably right. Plus, even if Artemesia had sworn Sirius to secrecy, she would have told him who already knew or very strongly suspected. Terry fell into the latter category. Artemesia really had never told him the truth flat out, although her frustrated declaration of "What do you think, you bloody idiot?" the first time he had seen her since his supposed death had been pretty clear. Because she never bothered to correct him, he assumed he was right. Of course, whenever Mrs. Vector interrogated him, Terry had pleaded the fifth. Artemesia's mum was actually kind of scary. Finally, Terry replied, "Yeah, she is. Gemma's a sweet girl."

Sirius nodded, and the two of them were silent for a moment. Truthfully, they were silent for more than a moment. The silence was now bordering on awkward. Artemesia, however, came back to the end of the hallway that the door to the dining room was on. She looked between them and sighed. "You two are idiots," she muttered before turning to Terry. "I forgot to say something to you before rushing off: please don't tell anyone."

"About what? That you're going out? Was that supposed to be a state secret, because everybody knows," Terry reminded them, wondering when they had fall through a hole in the time-space continuum and landed back in secondary school. As Terry tried to keep a smirk off his face, Sirius sent him an annoyed look. Ignoring his brother, Terry turned back to Artemesia and admitted, "I wasn't planning on saying anything, whatever it is you're actually alluding to."

Artemesia arched an eyebrow. "I'm not half as useless as you think I am. We're not incapable of conversation, despite your constant interruptions," Artemesia commented. Well, now Terry felt like an idiot. Was his timing really that bad? Wait. Interruptions? As in plural? Oh, hell. She was going to kill him. Artemesia smiled, probably internally laughing at him, and said, "Still, thanks, Terry. Oh, and I, uh, need to ask a favor. I know you were going to drop by Melbourne tomorrow, but could you go and take all the appropriate Christmas presents with you?" She looked rather nervous.

"Which Melbourne?" Sirius asked, disliking that he was out of the loop.

Simultaneously, Terry and Artemesia answered distractedly, "Australia." Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Terry explained, "I'm taking a portkey to see my nephew. He lives with Artemesia's parents." Smooth, Black. Real smooth. Hell, he was spending too much time with Sirius again. It was starting to affect the way he thought. Then again, maybe he hadn't said such a faux pas. Sirius didn't seem very surprised, and Artemesia didn't seem to want to strangle him, either. Terry decided that it might be best to stay silent and let Artemesia handle this.

Sirius, however, was the one who spoke first. "Right. 'Sia was just mentioning that earlier," he informed Terry, who was now utterly confused. He glanced over at Artemesia, who was staring at him as if encouraging him to continue. Terry had an idea of where this was going. Damn it, he didn't need to be babysat. Granted, Terry understood the rest of Artemesia's motives for convincing Sirius to visit Melbourne with him. Terry just wished Artemesia had warned him first. "She also suggested I go with you," Sirius continued.

Artemesia looked slightly frustrated and covered her face with her hand. Obviously Sirius was supposed to say he came up with the idea instead of blaming it all on Artemesia. To be honest, it was nice to know that the two of them were driving each other insane again. Terry took it as a sign that things were going back to normal. Trying to keep a straight face, Terry had to respond, "Are you serious?" He continued, "On second thought, don't answer that. The idea might not be too horrible, but—"

"I know. Unnecessary attention, the spy thing, etc.," Sirius acknowledged, cutting Terry off. Clearing his throat, Sirius continued, "Look, we've technically met socially now. The spy thing shouldn't matter. For all anyone knows, Artemesia suggested it, which she did—" She slapped him on the back of the head. "—And I deserved that. I mean, it's not so odd I'm going with you. The most logical explanation is that we've been sent off to do last-minute holiday errands, because that's, you know, true." Actually, Sirius had a point; Terry hadn't expected that.

Terry wasn't sure if he was going to agree to the suggestion until Artemesia implored, "Please, Terry. Just let him go along. For me?" The look on her face made one thing clear. She hadn't told Sirius about Peter yet. That might have been for the best, seeing as Peter was under the impression that his father was Terry's brother. (Was it still an impression if it were true?)

Realizing that the best course of action would be to just go along with the plan, Terry broke down and agreed, "Fine." He sighed and asked Sirius, "You sure this is all right? I'll probably be down there for about half a day." For some reason, he felt the need to add, "And if you really want to, we can take Dorcas along with us so she doesn't set your flat on fire."

Sirius replied, "Thanks. She would have been greatly displeased if she had learned that we went to the land down under without even mentioning it to her." He paused before asking, "You do know about her obsession with kangaroos, right?"

Terry nodded, trying not to remember. (The incident he had in mind included a single red kangaroo and the entire Slytherin quidditch team right before the final match between Slytherin and Gryffindor for the House Cup. He'd caught the snitch, as usual, but Gryffindor had won. By seven hundred points.) "It's a good idea," Terry informed Sirius. "I'll meet you and Dorcas tomorrow, then, at six in the morning at the Ministry." Sirius nodded, so Terry said, "Well, I'm going to go eat dinner. See you."

As Artemesia didn't try to stop him, Terry walked back down the hall. He did hear Artemesia ask Sirius to stay for dinner, but Sirius said he didn't want to intrude. Typical. Terry wondered exactly what they had talked about after he had gone with Gemma, but his musings didn't matter in the long run. At the end of the hall, he turned back to catch Sirius kiss Artemesia goodbye. Well, that was progress, at least. They deserved to be happy.

With a shadow of a smile, Terry walked into the kitchen.

* * *

Leo wished he weren't so angry. He knew he was irrationally angry, but he couldn't calm down. Leo knew his reaction was normal. After all, his mom had been hospitalized as a result of a Death Eater attack, and everyone was acting like nothing had happened. His sister had distracted herself and moved on, but Leo knew that might have been for the better, even if she did pick fights with older Slytherins in her free time. Gemma seemed a little upset, but Leo figured that had more to do with that argument between her mom and her mom's new boyfriend. Leo wouldn't begrudge Diana acting normally. She was generally unflappable. Aunt Artemesia was lost in her own little world, but that was because her boyfriend had visited. The worst was Mom.

Leo didn't understand. He really didn't. His mom pretended nothing was wrong, especially around his dad, who rightfully blamed himself. His mom should have been angry with his dad. After all, his mom's injuries were his dad's fault. However, Leo's mom pretended nothing had happened and, even worse, seemed to have forgiven Leo's dad. At least Leo's dad had the decency to blame himself.

Ignoring his father's new attempt to talk to him, Leo continued to chew his pizza angrily.

His father seemed to realize that Leo was refusing to talk to him and addressed Macha instead. Leo's mom looked concerned, but she didn't comment or ask what was wrong. Gemma seemed disapproving, but she was always like that these days. Macha kept going on about how Gemma was constantly annoyed with her because she was in Slytherin. Leo agreed with Macha, but he did partially agree with Gemma. Macha was changing, and Leo didn't like what he was seeing. She was becoming a girl he didn't quite know anymore.

When dinner was over, Leo stomped up the stairs. He knew his action was not particularly subtle, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Leo wondered who, if anyone, would come up to talk to him. He heard someone padding up the stairs. Well, apparently his father did see fit to chastise him. What an honor.

Leo had left open the door to his and Macha's room, but his father stopped at the doorway regardless. He seemed hesitant to speak. When Leo still refused to speak first, shi father sighed in defeat. "Leo, what's going on?" he asked, already sounding guilty. "I know you've been upset with me, but… What's wrong?"

As if he didn't know. Leo glared at the floor between his bed and Macha's. "It's your fault," he said darkly. "It's all your fault."

Leo's father frowned and sat down on Macha's bed opposite Leo. "You mean what happened to your mother," he murmured. He looked off to the side before he began, "Leo, you have to understand, what Bel—Lestrange did… Well, it was my fault."

Leo had hoped his father would have tried to deny it, but he had been upfront, like always. It made him so much harder to hate. Leo kept staring at the floor and asked quietly, "Does Mom even know?"

"She knows why she was targeted," his father reassured him. He grimaced as he realized, "But that's not what you meant, is it, Leo?" Leo noticed that his father looked even more upset than Leo had thought he would, but his father deserved it. "No. No, it's not," his father said, answering his own question.

Leo decided to cut his father off before he had to listen to any excuses and explained, "I was really angry when some of the Slytherins started picking on Macha. Gemma told me you had gone to Hogwarts, so I went through the yearbooks to prove you weren't a liar. When I found the truth, I didn't really mind, because, well, you're different. Then Mom got hurt, and…"

"You knew it was my fault," his dad concluded, staring down at his hands, guilt written all over his face. Leo thought it cost his dad to admit, "They hurt your mother, because I'm not doing my job well enough." Leo's dad took a steadying breath before he smiled weakly and continued, "Leo, you've every right to be mad at me. I just want you to know I never wanted this to happen. Your mum and I never quite decided when would be the right time to tell you and Macha the truth about my family, but when I was transferred—"

"Dad, I don't care about that," Leo interrupted, trying to hold onto his anger. He didn't want to stop being angry and start thinking about what really bothered him. His dad seemed to notice and moved to sit next to Leo. Oh, Leo hoped he didn't look upset as he was starting to feel. However, he stammered, "If—if the Death Eaters hurt Mom, then—then they have to know about you, right? What—what if they go after you next?"

His dad looked vaguely surprised. "Oh," he said, probably scrambling for what to say. After a moment, he just wrapped an arm around Leo's shoulders and said reassuringly, "Leo, you don't have to worry about me. I know what I'm doing. Besides, your uncle would kill me if I got into any more trouble with Bella, and I'll be damned before they hurt you or your sister."

Leo curled up against his dad and murmured, "I still don't like it."

"Neither does your mother," his dad mentioned under his breath. With a sigh, he admitted, "And neither do I, really, but I have to do this. I've waited too long. Please, Leo, don't worry. I'll be fine." Leo wasn't sure he really believed him, but he did know his dad didn't want him to be upset.

"You swear?" Leo asked, clinging to his father. He knew whatever promise was made might be empty, but in this case he would rather hear wishful thinking than the truth.

His dad grimaced and held Leo close to him, seemingly unwilling to reply. After a moment, he did reply with conviction, "I swear, Leo. Everything will be fine; I promise."

Leo wasn't sure why he started crying, but as he cried on his father's shoulder, he was surprised to discover he really did believe what his dad had said, even if it was far more likely that nothing would ever be fine again. After he had calmed down and his dad left to talk to his mom, Leo realized why his dad had sounded so convincing. His dad needed some hope, too.

* * *

_**Notes**: Updates may become irregular. I have a really demanding schedule this semester at college. So, if I'm a bit late with the next chapter, you'll know why.  
_

_**Coming Soon**: Sirius, Dorcas, and Regulus go to Australia, a batty old lady holds court, and a thirteen-year-old is given some answers from his uncle.  
_


	37. Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes

Sirius wasn't quite sure why he'd agreed. Well, actually he did: Artemesia had asked him to. Unfortunately, White was acting more spare than usual, even if Dorcas was oddly serene. Of course, she was the only one properly dressed for Australian summer. Despite the fact that it was six o'clock in the morning in London, it was five in the afternoon in Melbourne, but that was not why Dorcas was the only one properly dressed. Fine, so White might just be cold all the time, but Sirius had stupidly dressed for English winter. He had never been to Australia before, but Sirius decided it was nice. He wouldn't mind living there.

Sirius wasn't quite sure how the three of them had ended up where they were, though. Yes, White had mentioned that the purpose for this little trip to Australia was to visit his nephew and drop by Artemesia's parents' house, but none of them had expected who answered the door. Even Dorcas seemed to want to escape. White looked halfway between terrified and trying too hard to be polite, but Sirius could only wish he were back in London, where it was cold and he only had to deal with the hellish painting of his mother while trying to keep the kids' spirits up about Christmas. It really would have been better.

The point was that White, Dorcas, and Sirius were all sitting on a couch in the parlor of Artemesia's parents' house. Mr. and Mrs. Vector were away for at least another hour or two for Merlin knew what reason, but the houseguest had let them in. Therein laid the problem. This particular woman happened to be staying in Melbourne for a few days before going back to her safari on the African savannah and then heading on to Buenos Aires for Mardi Gras and Lent. She had so informed the three of them while escorting them to the parlor.

"Why is Ophelia here?" Dorcas demanded in a whisper, seemingly slightly afraid that the woman in question could overhear her from a couple of rooms over. Sirius didn't blame her. The old bat probably could or at least would imply she could.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Sirius demanded in return and at the same volume. It wasn't like it was his job to keep tabs on the woman. She was over a hundred, after all.

"She's _your_ bloody grandmother!" Dorcas snapped back. Sirius had been trying not to think about that. His mother's mother reminded him far too much of a female version of Yoda, except with quite a bit of money and a penchant for travel. "Hasn't she written you or anything?"

"I haven't seen her in years," Sirius likewise snapped, not in the best of moods. Bloody White and his bloody issues. They just had to go to Australia. Well, now they'd run into Grandma Ophelia, and they were never going to be able to leave. More calmly, Sirius admitted, "I had the feeling she was still alive, but I assumed she would just show up on her own schedule. She marches to the beat of her own saxophone."

White seemed to have picked up on Sirius's ever-worsening mood, and before either of the other two could blame him, he explained, "Look, guys, I thought she was still in Africa. She wasn't supposed to be anywhere near here. If I'd known she was around, I'd have just visited everyone in New York."

Dorcas and Sirius shot White glares, but Dorcas was the one who demanded, "Why is she here, anyway? I assume she knows Mr. and Mrs. Vector, but how in the world did they meet? This could have been planned—you always said she had relative radar."

"She knew Mr. Vector's father. He served in the Great War with one of Ophelia's brothers. Her brother died in the war, but she stayed in contact with Mr. Vector's father," Terry explained quickly, hoping Ophelia wouldn't show up in the parlor as she was apt to do when people spoke of her. "You know how Ophelia is," he continued, warily watching the door. White paled suddenly and tried to explain, "Shit, I almost forgot, but your grandmother thinks I'm—"

"She still mixes people up?" Sirius repeated, again wishing he'd just stayed at Grimmauld. His grandmother avoided that house like the plague. He didn't blame her by any stretch of the imagination, but Ophelia could only be handled in small doses. Sirius cursed and said to Dorcas, "You better hope she doesn't think you're someone else. The only other blondes she knows she despises. Aside from Cissy, whom she believes still has the mind of a five-year-old. Of course, Narcissa never bothered to correct her, because Grandma always brings her presents. That might have changed, but I doubt it."

Dorcas was amused by that, but White, on the other hand, was bordering on frantic as he exclaimed, still quietly, "Sirius, listen to me! She confuses me with—"

He did not have the chance to finish his sentence, because Ophelia waltzed into the room. Two out of three on the sofa reflexively sat up straight. White's reaction was obviously a result of prior prolonged exposure to Ophelia. Dorcas had mostly been spared from Ophelia, although Sirius did remember when Dorcas had met his grandmother when they were about seven and Aunt Cassiopeia was still trying to set Sirius up with someone completely unsuitable (but still pure enough) behind his mother's back. Of course, Sirius had been under the impression that Dorcas was a boy, which had put a bit of a dent in Aunt Cassiopeia's plan.

Ophelia set the tea down on the coffee table and sat in the chair opposite the couch. Smiling, she turned to Sirius and asked quite cheerfully, "So, Sirius, my boy, how have you been? I don't believe I've seen you in years."

Sirius wondered if his grandmother had become senile yet. While White had said that Ophelia confused him with someone, she may have done that on purpose. Sirius remembered how Ophelia had mistaken people to annoy or otherwise confuse them when he was a child. Take his father's side of the family for example. Patiently, Sirius replied, "I was in Azkaban, Grandma. For twelve years. It was in the papers."

Ophelia continued to smile as she informed him, "I know that, silly. How were you? Was it as bad as everyone says?"

Nope, his grandmother was just as batty as ever. Sirius personally thought it was her private rebellion against the Victorian era. Her public rebellion against the Victorian era was refusing to stay in England for prolonged periods of time after Sirius's mother was of age. Sirius couldn't remember if she'd taken his grandfather with her. "Yes, Grandma, it was horrible," Sirius replied civilly. There were definitely downsides to having this conversation in the presence of Dorcas and White. Mostly White. He was never going to let this go. "The Ministry should upgrade the prison system," Sirius continued neutrally.

"Well, that's nice. You aren't eating enough. You're far too skinny," Ophelia decided with a tone of finality in her voice. Sirius hoped to God that her tone meant she was going to turn the focus of her interrogation on one of the other two. Alas, she continued, "How is your darling wife?"

Sirius twitched. What? Who had given Ophelia the impression that he was—Actually, Mr. Vector might have mentioned that Sirius had asked him for Artemesia's hand in marriage in December of 1980, but Sirius had never proposed. He hadn't wanted Artemesia to think she had to say yes because of how depressed he'd been, so he had put it off. When Sirius had finally started to feel better, Voldemort went and killed James and Lily. "I'm not married, Grandma," Sirius reminded her, trying not to think about how stupid he had been.

"Close enough, young man," Ophelia replied sternly. "I do hope you still plan on making an honest woman out of the poor girl." Sirius tried not to cringe and decided that if he were to reassign the properties of the circles of hell, one of them would be being trapped in a room with his grandmother. He loved her; he really did, but she was in some ways a relic of the late nineteenth century. Ophelia continued, "You should feel badly, Sirius. You have put that girl through far more grief than she should have been exposed to. I should have expected behavior like this from you. I told your mother that your father was nothing but trouble, but did she listen to me? No, of course not. She never did. Speaking of your mother, you missed her funeral."

"Grandma, I was in Azkaban. They wouldn't have let me out for that. For heaven's sake, they had a betting pool on how long I'd last in prison," Sirius protested, but he knew that she wouldn't listen. She never did. "They wouldn't let me go to Dad's funeral, either."

"That's no excuse. You should have escaped earlier. It's simply improper how long you waited, especially if you could have escaped at any time," Ophelia scolded him. She sighed exasperatedly and said, "I suppose I should forgive you. It's not your fault that you have bad breeding." Sirius was again reminded of his grandmother's vast array of eccentricities. She believed that his father's side of the family consisted of scoundrels and resulting from bad blood. Thus, she had the belief that everyone else on the planet was exceedingly far more pleasant, Muggles and witches and wizards alike, and treated them as equals. Unless, of course, they were part of his father's side of the family, then they were the scum of the earth and unworthy of notice. Abruptly, Ophelia focused her attentions on Dorcas and resumed smiling. "Miss Meadowes, I was operating under the mistaken impression that you were deceased," Ophelia mentioned conversationally. Approvingly, she continued, "Death becomes you."

"Thank you?" Dorcas replied, too confused to really say anything else.

"You always were such a dear," Ophelia reminded herself, still addressing Dorcas. White was bracing himself for what came next, because Ophelia would indeed move on to him now. She found Dorcas nice but dull. Sirius wasn't sure how his grandmother found Dorcas dull, but she managed. Sirius had long since stopped questioning her. He was proved correct when Ophelia turned to White and asked, "And how are you, young man? Are you still frustrated with your colleagues?"

Why was Ophelia being so nice to White? This was totally unfair! Still nervous for some reason, White replied, "Well, um, I've been reassigned. I'm working in the embassy in London." He was being unnecessarily vague. Sirius had been vague, too, but that was beside the point.

"Oh, that's wonderful news! How are your lovely wife and the little ones?" Ophelia asked, continuing the interrogation. Sirius began to wish for an interruption so he could escape with Dorcas. White would be a necessary casualty of war, but Sirius could live with that.

"Macha and Leo are doing well," White answered, hoping Ophelia would not continue along that line of questioning. Sirius noticed that White was less angry at the world recently. It was probably because his wife left the hospital. Artemesia had mentioned that White had been far more stressed than usual before his wife had been given a more or less clean bill of health.

"Oh, dear, has that cursed girl Bellatrix been acting out again?" Ophelia asked, bothered by the possibility. Sirius was not even going to start thinking about his grandmother's theories about Bellatrix. "I knew she was nothing but trouble even before she was born."

White squirmed in his seat and explained carefully, "Vesta was injured in a Death Eater attack, and Bellatrix Lestrange is believed to have been present." Sirius noticed that White seemed to be hiding something. Granted, he was always playing his cards close to his chest, but White seemed to be greatly unwilling to mention anything else.

Ophelia blinked owlishly and demanded, "Has she been terrorizing you again?" When White wouldn't answer, Ophelia declared, obviously directed at Sirius despite appearances, "Bellatrix is just more proof that nothing ever came from your father's side of the family."

"Yes, Grandma," Sirius said, starting to feel a headache coming on.

"Sirius, what have I told you about interrupting?" Ophelia demanded, still displeased with him. Sirius hoped that she wouldn't start on her list of grievances against the family. That was never-ending. The rant was amusing at times, but that didn't make it less interminable.

"I shouldn't do it, ma'am," Sirius replied as contritely as he could manage.

"Take care to remember that," Ophelia advised him, pleased with his reply. She resumed staring intently at White in order to receive a reply from him. Sirius wasn't positive, but the tactic might have been working. With a melodramatic sigh, Ophelia said, "Fine. If you do not wish to discuss what has happened, you do not have to. You are far too much like your mother for my tastes, young man." Was Sirius surprised that Ophelia knew White's mother? Hell, no. Worse, it seemed that Ophelia had decided to approve of White's family. No endless barrage of complaints about his comportment or how his father's side of the family was terrible, which thus rendered him partially as useless as the rest of them.

Sirius mused for a moment how the conversation would have continued to play out were Reg sitting there instead of White. Ophelia would go on to say that she guessed that Reg's similarity to their mother was just a side effect of being the better-behaved one. Then she would turn to Sirius and call him useless and an utter fool. Dad would usually walk in at that point, and Ophelia would say, "Speak of the devil!" and inform him that they were just talking about him. Mum used to think it was funny, back when the real world still held some interest for her.

"I'm sorry I'm too much like Mum," White murmured, sounding somewhat sad. Sirius was about to ask why he was apologizing, Ophelia be damned. However, the sound of someone shutting the front door of the house distracted all of them.

* * *

Peter had just returned from playing a game of cricket in the cul-de-sac where his friends Tir and Reynard lived. (Rey had an unfortunate name, but that was beside the point.) Jimmy had managed to convince his parents to let him go and play, too, which was lucky, because otherwise the girls would have outnumbered them. Anyway, they lost. Camellia was triumphant and wouldn't stop rubbing it in Jimmy's face that he had lost the sixth pick-up cricket game in a row. Rey did his usual act of refusing to help Jimmy talk Camellia out of being so enthusiastic. Peter, however, had been joking around with Tir until he realized what time it was. He was supposed to have been home by five, not realize he was late at half past five.

Peter had quickly said goodbye to everyone except Doreen, who was too busy having a staring contest with Rey's dog, which had to be the laziest animal on the planet, bar none. Well, Tir was lazier, but he was a person. Peter had rushed back home, hoping his grandparents wouldn't be too upset with him. Grandma always became rather angry with him when he broke rules. Peter didn't mean to, most of the time. Rules were just so inconvenient.

On the other hand, Peter found it very convenient that he only lived two or so blocks away from Tir and Rey. Jimmy lived more like fifteen blocks away, which was why he always convinced his parents to drive him over. Kind of a bother, if anyone cared to ask Peter. Regardless, Peter paused to catch his breath after he barely kept himself from running into the front door. When he walked in, no one was there to reprimand him, and he realized that his grandparents probably were stuck in traffic or something. That could mean only one thing. Ophelia was still around. Peter had hoped he would dodge that bullet, but alas it was not to be. He heard a woman exclaim, "I'll go see who it is!" Peter knew an escape attempt when he heard one. He had tried that before. Repeatedly. It never really worked out too well.

"Oh, no, dear," Ophelia insisted in that maddeningly cheerful manner of hers. Peter considered just going into the parlor, saying hi, and then escaping, but he decided that might be a bit too cruel. Unfortunately, Ophelia made the decision for him and called him in, "Peter, would you please come into the parlor? Your uncle's here."

Dropping his cricket gear near the door, Peter sighed and trudged into the parlor. He plastered a smile on his face and hoped that it didn't look as fake as it was. The first thing Peter noticed when he entered the room was that Ophelia was holding court again. Uncle Terry, of course, was one of the three unfortunate victims. Peter didn't know who the blonde woman sitting next to Uncle Terry was, but the man on the other side of the sofa looked oddly familiar.

Peter wasn't sure if he should acknowledge the presence of Ophelia first or if he could just go and save his uncle from the crazy lady. The blonde woman and the other man were unfortunate casualties, but he was willing to make the sacrifice. Deciding to hell with it, Peter grinned and exclaimed, "Hey, Uncle Terry!" He bounded over to his uncle, who stood and gave him a hug. "I thought you were going to come to Great-Aunt Juno's Christmas party like usual."

Uncle Terry smiled sadly and explained, "Your aunt Vesta got hurt pretty badly recently. None of her doctors thought it was intelligent to take a trans-Atlantic flight or Port-key." Peter realized that his uncle looked pretty depressed. Uncle Terry seemed to pick up on the fact that Peter had noticed and reassured him, "Peter, she's fine, you know. She's all right."

Peter nodded absentmindedly. Who did Uncle Terry think he was trying to fool? Well, he did believe his uncle was telling the truth about his aunt, but it was kind of obvious that whatever had happened had hit his uncle hard. Was Peter imagining things, or did Uncle Terry have more scars than the last time he'd seen him? Peter then realized he was being kind of rude. There were three other people in the room. With the intent of addressing them in turn, Peter said first to Ophelia, "Nice to see you again, ma'am. Nice to meet you, um—" He turned to his uncle for a cue.

Uncle Terry grinned and said, "Peter, I'd like you to meet two friends of mine. Dorcas Meadowes—" He gestured at the woman. Peter was glad for that. He wouldn't have known Dorcas was a woman's name. It sounded vaguely female now that he thought about it, but he wouldn't have known right off the bat. Uncle Terry continued, "And Sirius Black."

Peter nodded and said, "Oh. Okay. Cool. Hi, I'm Peter. Nice to meet you." What his uncle had said then had the opportunity to sink in. The random familiar-looking man was Sirius Black. Well, maybe he wasn't _that_ Sirius Black. After all, Black was a common last name, and it could be a complete yet unfortunate coincidence that the man had that first name. Of course, Uncle Terry could just be acting par for the course and befriended the man who spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. That theory would also explain why Mr. Black looked familiar.

Judging by the fact that his uncle had an ever-suffering look on his face, apparently Peter hadn't been as covert with his expressions as he had thought. Ms. Meadowes looked like she had caught on to an inside joke she knew at least one of them didn't understand. Peter saw a similar expression on Jimmy frequently, usually whenever they pulled one over on a teacher and didn't get caught. Rey could talk them out of anything. Mr. Black, on the other hand, was vaguely smiling but still managing to look a little resigned, as if he had expected Peter's reaction. He was probably all too used to it, Peter realized, which caused him to immediately feel like crap. Strangely enough, the next person to speak was Mr. Black. With a voice that again reminded Peter of someone else, Mr. Black said levelly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, too."

"Now that you've been introduced, Peter, be a dear and show Sirius and Dorcas around the house. I'd like to talk to your uncle alone," Ophelia said, smiling in that creepy way she did. Peter used to call her a dragon lady, but his grandmother had forbid him to do so the first time she heard him say it in her presence. Grandpa thought it was an apt description but admitted that only once Grandma was out of earshot. Still. Ophelia was one tough cookie, and Peter found it wiser to just do what she said.

"Uh, okay," he said hesitantly. Uncle Terry did not look very thrilled at the idea of a prolonged conversation with Ophelia, but he wasn't complaining vociferously, so Peter supposed he wasn't too much against the idea. That, or he was taking one for the team. Turning to Mr. Black and Ms. Meadowes, Peter said, "I guess I'll give you a tour, then."

Less then a minute later, the three of them were in the kitchen. Ms. Meadowes hadn't been able to exit the parlor fast enough, but Mr. Black hadn't been in as much of a rush. Addressing Mr. Black, Ms. Meadowes said, "Look, Sirius, I have to get out of here. I'm sorry to leave you in the belly of the beast, but Ophelia's scary as hell. I'd rather go up against your cousin again with only a sharpened spoon and a roll of duct tape at my disposal. On second thought, only the spoon. The duct tape would give me a fair chance at winning."

Mr. Black grinned and said, "Dorcas, it's fine. Run while you still can. Make sure you go somewhere where magic isn't prohibited. I'll send a patronus when it's okay for you to come back." Ms. Meadowes said thanks in a very bizarre manner before disapparating with a loud crack. Mr. Black shook his head ruefully. Peter wondered if the two of them were going out but dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him. Mr. Black would have escaped with her if they were.

Peter took a moment to look at Mr. Black. He didn't seem like the same person in the newspaper photos from the _Daily Prophet_. Aside from looking generally healthier, he was also a lot calmer. At least, it seemed that way. Peter realized with a start that Mr. Black looked a lot like Uncle Terry. Granted, Uncle Terry was noticeably shorter and slighter than Mr. Black, but the resemblance was definitely there. Peter was slightly frustrated, because while his uncle and Mr. Black were physically alike, it wasn't completely why Peter noticed the similarity. Their voices, maybe?

"You're White's nephew, right?" Mr. Black asked, breaking the silence. He was leaning against the counter, looking kind of tense. Mr. Black seemed a lot less self-assured than Peter would have guessed he would be.

Peter nodded and replied, "Yeah. Uncle Terry's my favorite uncle. Well, I don't have any other uncles, but even if I did, he'd still be my favorite. Grandma thinks he's disrespectful, though." Grandma thought Uncle Terry was not courteous enough around his social superiors. Peter always wondered why she said that. Uncle Terry was polite to most everyone, but he really didn't like Peter's grandmother's politics.

Smiling, Mr. Black said sincerely, "He's a good guy. You're lucky to have him as your uncle." Peter knew that. Uncle Terry had defended Mum when Grandma had threatened permanently transferring guardianship of Peter from his mum to her. Uncle Terry likewise hated it when Grandma started badmouthing Peter's father. His uncle rarely said a harsh word, but he frequently tried to change to a more neutral subject. The only time Peter had actually heard a heated argument between his uncle and his grandparents, his uncle had been absolutely furious. After Uncle Terry had stormed out of that room, thinking no one was around he had muttered, "God dammit, Hera, my brother would have rather gone through hell than have left Artemesia like this." Only Uncle Terry knew Peter had listened in on some of the conversation, but he would never acknowledge the implication that his brother was Peter's father. Uncle Terry never tried to dissuade him of the notion, either, so Peter assumed that it was true.

"How do you know him?" Peter decided to ask. There wasn't much else to talk about. It wasn't every day he talked to someone this infamous. "My uncle, I mean."

Mr. Black turned serious and hesitated. Peter guessed that meant Mr. Black had to fiture out what he couldn't say, so he was probably was working with Uncle Terry on his secret-agent business. Uncle Terry took that job very seriously, and Peter had always guessed that whatever it was had to do with the war with Voldemort. Uncle Terry had very strong feelings about that war. Aunt Vesta had once told Peter about when his uncle had landed himself in the middle of a bar fight on Halloween a really long time ago. Uncle Terry insisted he had been trying to stop it, but everyone kind of knew that he was lying.

Finally, Mr. Black sighed and answered frankly, "I'm not quite sure. We're working together now, but I may have met him in the past." He looked a little frustrated for a moment, but he recovered quickly. Mr. Black asked in return, "So you're really close with your uncle?" Peter realized at that moment that his uncle might not have told Mr. Black his entire life story. Well. That was new. Was Uncle Terry learning to be reserved?

Peter assumed his uncle trusted Mr. Black, so he replied, "Yeah, we are. I think he may be trying to make up for what happened to Dad, but he doesn't like to talk about it." Mr. Black seemed somewhat surprised. Peter tilted his head to the side and asked, "Did Uncle Terry tell you anything about my dad?"

Mr. Black was obviously trying to figure out what he should say, or maybe what he couldn't say. That answered Peter's question. Uncle Terry must have said something, but what did he say? With hesitation, Mr. Black replied, "Yes, he did. Maybe. I'm not completely sure. Are you his brother's son or are you related via your aunt? Neither White nor 'Sia were very clear." (FUTURE REF: PETER'S AUNT=VESTA)

Peter blinked, a little confused. "Who's 'Sia?" he asked, feeling mostly clueless.

Mr. Black looked a little confused and strangely embarrassed, but he replied, "Artemesia Vector? She's the cousin of your uncle's wife, has a daughter about your age."

"Oh," Peter said, feeling majorly stupid. Of course, then he realized why he didn't make the connection immediately. Mum hated being called 'Sia. A lot. As in, she wouldn't speak to Uncle Terry for a month the last time he accidentally called her that to her face. That had been years ago, though, and Uncle Terry seemed to have broken himself of the habit. The question was, how did Mr. Black know his mum? Again, stupid question. In her naturally roundabout way, Gemma had mentioned that their mum was going out with a new guy. She had probably neglected to tell Peter _who_ simply because she wanted to break the news in person. Gemma could be so obnoxious sometimes. He said, "You mean Mum."

Mr. Black smiled at that and looked down at the ground. "Ah. 'Sia is your mum. I should have guessed," he murmured, sounding chagrined. Mr. Black looked back up and inquired, "So, Gemma's your older sister, then? But, why do you live apart?"

"Er, Gemma's my twin," Peter corrected, momentarily ignoring the second question. He didn't really want to air his mum's dirty laundry to her boyfriend of the week. Although… Mr. Black called Peter's mum 'Sia and had apparently lasted more than a week. Of course, if Mum hadn't even told Mr. Black about Peter, then maybe Peter shouldn't say anything. There was one way to determine if it were all right to tell Mr. Black. That said, Peter didn't want Mum staring disapprovingly at him the next time he saw her if he wasn't sneaky enough and thus insulted Mr. Black. Trying not to sound suspicious, Peter hesitantly asked, "How do you know my mum?"

Mr. Black replied with ease, "She was a very good friend of mine when we were in school." If he had left it at that, Peter would have called him a liar. There had to be more to the story. However, Mr. Black looked kind of embarrassed. Peter found out why when Mr. Black continued, "And, well, we were involved later on." Peter's eyes widened. Ah. If his mum had still been with Mr. Black when he was sent to Azkaban, then his mum probably had a very good reason for disliking anyone calling her 'Sia. Mr. Black noticed that Peter was spiraling into a state of horror and said, "It didn't end well, as you probably guessed, but we're still friends."

All Peter could manage at the moment was a mute nod. Certain math didn't quite make sense. Well, it might have, but that would be weird and creepy. Granted, Uncle Terry was a little spare, but even he had limits. But what if this was the limit? Peter wasn't sure if he wanted to consider what he just deduced. Okay. Logically. He was going to look at this logically. Fact 1: Uncle Terry had said he was Peter's father's brother. Fact 2: Uncle Terry and Mr. Black were very much alike (practically clones). Fact 3: Mr. Black had been involved with Peter's mum from some point up until Mr. Black got in trouble with the law, and it sounded like they had been together for a while before that. Fact 4: Peter and Gemma were born in June, so the dates fit.

Peter hoped at that point that it wasn't obvious he was having his own private nervous breakdown. Anyway. Conclusion 1: Mr. Black was his father. Conclusion 2: Uncle Terry was completely insane. Wait, no. That was a fact. So, conclusion two was that either Peter's uncle was lying about who Peter's father was or he was lying about his identity. Conclusion 3: Uncle Terry was lying about his identity, because it was kind of scary how similar he and Mr. Black were. Being a zealous student of history, Peter realized one more thing. Uncle Terry had been at one point a Death Eater and was supposed to be deceased. Rather horribly, at that.

Mr. Black—Peter was going to pretend this revelation never happened—looked concerned. Maybe Peter hadn't hidden his utter shock and horror well enough. Peter was not happy with his uncle right then, not at all. Peter came to another realization at that point: Mr. Black didn't seem to know or have drawn any conclusions about things. That, or he was denying things, too. Peter was good at denial. Denial was his friend and not just a river in Egypt.

Looking resigned again, Mr. Black said, "You don't like me, do you?"

Even if Peter were wrong (oh, please, if there were a God, please let Peter be wrong), it wouldn't do to alienate his mum's boyfriend. It also wouldn't do to alienate an ex-con. (Or his father.) Peter just had the luck of being able to do so in one neat package. He was going to yell at his uncle. He really was. Breaking out of his reverie, Peter replied in a distracted tone, "No. I was just thinking about how crazy Uncle Terry is."

Mr. Black grinned at that, causing him to look years younger and that much more familiar. Peter wondered if Azkaban was the reason Mr. Black normally looked older than he should. With a laugh, Mr. Black agreed, "Yes, your uncle is a little mad."

Well, at least they had found something they could both agree on. (Shortly thereafter, they'd also agree that Ms. Meadowes was even crazier than Uncle Terry, but that had more to do with her interaction with the next door neighbors, the Archers, and their pet wallaby than anything else. Peter would always wonder where she found the parachute.)

* * *

Terry had spent too much time around Sirius not to notice that he was furious. He knew he should have told Sirius about Peter, but Terry hadn't known if Artemesia wanted him to. Thankfully, Grandmother Ophelia wanted to grill Sirius now, so the argument to end all arguments would have to wait for a while. Terry had actually been relieved that his grandmother hadn't referred to him by name while Sirius had been in the room, even if she had done her level best to hit Sirius over the head with the truth. On a related note, Grandmother thought Terry should visit his psychiatrist to have his prescriptions adjusted. Fifteen years ago, his first experience with psychiatry had produced a vast quantity of Valium, and Terry knew far more entertaining ways of self-medicating. Vesta had periodically suggested he might want to try again over the next year or so, but she had stopped when he had told her everything that had happened to him in the war—_everything_. As expected, he had had trouble telling her, but it had become easier as he kept talking. For a couple months afterward, he had noticed that she had treated him differently, but as time went on, she had thankfully reverted back to normal. Sometimes it still surprised Terry how much that had meant to him. Eventually, she gave him the name of a doctor a friend had recommended, and he to get help again for her sake. Thankfully, that time, it had helped.

In the here and now, however, a very angry Sirius had him by the collar and demanded, "What in the hell happened between 'Sia and her parents?" Terry let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. Oh, thank God and Merlin and all the stars in the sky. Sirius wasn't going to beat the tar out of him. Well, to be honest, he still might, but Terry was more concerned with the motive.

"Her mum disowned her, Sirius," Terry replied as calmly as he could, which in the circumstances was calmer than he had a right to be. That said, unless Sirius was pissed off at his younger brother for lying to him for fifteen years, Terry was fine. Really.

"I got that, White!" Sirius growled. Terry had underestimated how angry Sirius was. "Why else would she have been completely cut off from her inheritance? What about the kids?"

"Mr. Vector was against it, Sirius, but you've met Artemesia's mother. She makes Ophelia seem only merely intimidating," Terry continued, hoping Sirius didn't start a fight when Mr. and Mrs. Vector finally got back. "Look, Artemesia always knew that her salary wasn't high enough to raise two children. Before the two of them went to school, both of the kids spent their summers in Britain. Peter doesn't go to Hogwarts because he wanted to stay with his friends here, and before you ask, yes, the school is world-class." Terry wondered if he should continue, but he had never been a very cautious man around Sirius, so he added, "He's a lot like you, you know. Peter, I mean."

"No, he's not," Sirius said, slightly glaring at Terry. After a moment, his expression softened, and Sirius continued with some regret, "He's nothing like me, and I hope to God he stays that way."

Well, it seemed like Sirius had indeed drawn the conclusion that Peter and Gemma were his children. About damn time, really. Unfortunately, Sirius was now going to blame himself for even more circumstances that were out of his control. Yes, what had happened in the wake of Voldemort's death sent all of these current problems into motion, but Terry knew that was not his brother's fault. Sirius couldn't have known what Pettigrew had been planning, and he had no reason to suspect that Pettigrew would ever have done that. Yes, Sirius shouldn't have sought revenge against Pettigrew without telling anyone, but Sirius hadn't expected to end up in prison because of it. Pure chance had led them all to where they were now, but Sirius wouldn't stop beating himself up about it, and that still drove Terry crazy. However, he couldn't let Sirius go into an emotional tailspin before talking to their grandmother, so Terry corrected him, "Sirius, he is like you. Don't sell yourself short." Sirius was about to protest, but Terry cut him off, saying, "Yes, he is different, too, but he hasn't had to go through what you did."

Sirius had a dark look on his face, but he sighed and gave in. "Fine, White, but would you tell me the whole truth later?" he asked. Sirius didn't wait for a reply before asking somewhat nervously, "Ophelia wants to talk to me, doesn't she?"

"Sorry, Sirius," Terry replied, meaning it. Sirius cursed before making his way back to the parlor. Terry hoped Artemesia's parents did not return until after the conversation was finished, because otherwise Terry would avoid the ensuing firestorm for as long as possible. Mr. Vector would probably join Terry and Peter in avoiding the loud, tumultuous results. Speaking of Peter, Terry had better go talk to his nephew. He hoped that the ensuing conversation did not turn into a test run for trying to calm Sirius down.

After a brief search of the house, Terry realized Peter was hiding in his room. (Dorcas was likely AWOL, but Terry did not want to know.) Hesitantly, he knocked on the door to Peter's room. There was no answer. Terry knocked again and asked, "Peter, are you there?" He heard some shuffling from within the room, but he received no answer. Terry should have expected something like this. With Sirius in his current mood, there was no way that Peter could have escaped unscathed. Sighing, Terry requested, "Peter, please, may I come in?"

"No," came the muffled reply. Terry grimaced. Peter was very angry with him, then. Terry guessed that his nephew's reaction meant that if Sirius hadn't constructed psychological barriers against the merest implications of the truth, his brother would have recognized him all too easily. Peter shouted, still slightly muffled, "Go away!"

Terry grimaced and said, "Peter, I'm coming in. If you don't want to talk to me, fine, but please let me explain." He heard some more shuffling and then the door unlock. Terry smiled and said, "Thank you, Peter."

He entered the room. Peter was curled up in his bed under the covers. This conversation might be more difficult than Terry had initially expected. He sat down on the corner of the bed. Peter still said nothing. Terry pinched the bridge of his nose. This felt as bad as it had been when he had tried to make peace with his brother after their falling-out.

"You're a murderer," Peter murmured. He sounded like he had been crying only shortly before. Terry wondered how much Peter had figured out. Unfortunately, Terry didn't reply quickly enough, so Peter cried, "You aren't even going to deny it?"

"No. No, I'm not," Terry replied quietly. He smoothed a patch of quilt on the bed absentmindedly. The real answer was far more complicated, but the short of it was that Terry was a bloody-handed murderer. "How did you find out?"

Peter sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. His eyes were red, which caused Terry to feel even guiltier. Peter sniffed and murmured, "You're Mr. Black's brother." Terry's face went slack in shock before he tensed. Terry's reaction was hard to miss, and Peter certainly didn't miss it. Looking angrier but visibly distressed, Peter accused, "You won't even try to deny it!"

Terry sighed and glanced toward the door. Making his decision, he stood up and shut the door firmly. As subtly as possible, he cast a soundproofing spell on the room. Sitting back down on the bed, Terry couldn't bring himself to meet his nephew's eyes. How in the world could he explain this to Peter? The boy was barely even a teenager, and sometimes Terry—the adult, supposedly—had trouble making sense of it all. Tracing the pattern on the quilt, Terry took a deep breath to brace himself to explain. He knew he was going to regret this, but this order was made to be broken. Troubled, Terry grimaced and asked, "What do you want me to tell you?"

Peter looked up, far more hurt than angry. Betrayed, he demanded, "Just who are you?"

Terry met his gaze. There was no going back. Now striving to remain calm, he began, "My name is Regulus Arcturus Black. I was born November 11, 1961, and I died January 28, 1981. I was nineteen. At least, that's what it says on my tombstone." He paused, wishing he could dispel the memories that immediately resurfaced. He had to continue. He had to explain. He couldn't let Peter hate him.

Peter was studying him, starting to look vaguely nervous. He had relaxed slightly and now murmured, "We're studying the war against Voldemort in school. We're reading this book, and it mentioned that you were killed for backing out of the Death Eaters." He looked away at the last sentence, nervous but ashamed of what he had said for God knew what reason.

Terry looked down, trying to keep his breathing steady. This was far more difficult than he remembered. He had been able to explain to Artemesia well enough, hadn't he? _Veritas vos liberabit_, right? The truth would set him free. Terry admitted, "I was a Death Eater, but I didn't want to be, not really. I was trying to stay out of the war, but I was forced to pick a side. My brother tried to keep me out of the war, but our cousin was far more forceful." Re—Terry tried not to show any emotion. He didn't want Peter to even theorize about what might have happened. Making sure to keep his voice steady, Terry continued, "I made the decision to switch sides the first time I was taken out on a raid. Two weeks later, I was working for the United States government. I volunteered for what was effectively a suicide mission that had already killed their top field agent. God knows why they took me in. I didn't tell anyone. When I was found out, Voldemort ordered me to kill your father. I couldn't even contemplate any of that. Afterward—" Terry stopped before he risked triggering a flashback. He couldn't let Peter see that. Let Peter hate him, but he couldn't let Peter see him break down like that. Terry murmured, "You can guess the rest."

Peter noticed that his uncle was not going to say more on the topic, so he tried an alternate route. Hesitantly, he asked, "How did you meet Aunt Vesta?"

That question surprised Terry. Granted, it wasn't unwarranted. How on earth would a princeling from one of the most highly respected English pureblood families end up with a woman whose Muggleborn father grew up in the Bronx? Boggled the bloody mind, didn't it? Trying and mostly failing to remain placid, Reg—_Terry_ replied, "She was working at St. Mungo's, where I was learning to be a healer. It took me forever to work up the courage to speak to her. I never cared about blood status. All I knew was that I loved her. I always will."

Now Peter was simply watching him. Terry looked down and continued, "Look, Peter, I understand if you hate me for lying to you. I'd hate me, too, to be honest." He wanted to add more, but Terry wasn't sure what else there was to say. Under no circumstances was he going to talk about his life as a Death Eater, but there had to be some memory or detail that might cause Peter to consider forgiving him. After all, if he couldn't convince his thirteen-year-old nephew to forgive him, then how on earth was he going to convince his older brother to do so?

Peter was considering what he had been told. On one had, he could decide he was fine with what Terry had said. On the other hand, he might never speak to Terry again. It was hard to tell. If this argument had been with Sirius, Terry would have had more information to work with because Sirius never censored himself in front of him, but Peter was being scarce with his words. Then again, when Sirius was incredibly angry, he didn't speak much, either. There was no point to staying here if Peter was truly that angry with him. Terry smiled sadly and murmured, "I'll leave you alone, then."

There was no response from Peter, who had again wrapped himself in a blanket cocoon, so Terry stood with the intent to leave. No use staying where he wasn't wanted. He hadn't crossed half the room when Peter whimpered, "Uncle Terry? Please don't go." Terry stopped and turned back. Peter was on the verge of tears when he cried softly, "Please don't be mad at me."

Needless to say, Terry was startled. It was what he deserved for expecting the worst, but the Blacks conditioned their children well. Wait. _Sirius_. How could Terry be so stupid? He sat back down on the bed, and Peter attached himself to Terry much like Gemma would when she was upset. As Peter sobbed into his shoulder, Terry reassured him, "I'm not angry with you. I couldn't be. You've done nothing wrong, Peter. You've done nothing wrong." Terry felt like an idiot for not immediately realizing Peter was upset because of his father.

After Peter calmed down enough to speak again, he was nervously picking at the corner of the quilt and asked with a sniff, "How did Mum and Dad meet?"

Regulus smiled and said, "Well, it all began when your mum chucked a chocolate frog at your dad. I mean, she was aiming for that Hufflepuff girl with the awful hair, but you know how cramped passenger trains are, and God only knows what Sirius was doing. Anyway…"

* * *

**_Notes:_** _So clearly "irregular updates" translated to "er, I'll not be updating for a year". I apologize. I thought I could finish both the fic and my edits to it in the past year, but nothing was written for various reasons. Unfortunately, I'll likely be either updating once a month or every two months from now on. I've got to deal with my thesis and graduate school interviews. Sorry.  
_

**_Coming Soon_**_: Nervous breakdowns are had, and Christmas is more or less celebrated._


	38. It's A Wonderful Life

"Vesta?"

"Mmmhm?" she replied, in the process of reading some vampire book of Diana's. She'd had her doubts at first, but this series looked like it would be better than the other one about vampires in Louisiana. Mostly, she was trying to shut her mind off.

"How would you react if you stumbled upon the fact that you had children?" Artemesia asked, looking rather nervous and tipsy, if the wineglass in her hand was anything to go by. Vesta wondered where Auriga had gone. She was supposed to be drinking with Artemesia.

"It would be kind of difficult to miss the fact that I had children, Artemesia," Vesta reminded her cousin. What on earth had brought this on now? "Seeing as I'm female."

"Well, suppose you weren't. Female, I mean," Artemesia clarified. "Suppose you—"

Vesta put her book down and interrupted, "You mean you still haven't told the father of your children that said children are his?" She sighed exasperatedly. "Please tell me that you at least informed the poor man that you have children."

"I did! At least, I explained everything about Gemma," Artemesia exclaimed indignantly. She stared down at the floorboards before straightening the situation out by explaining her annoyance, "And I would have finished talking about Peter had your bloody husband not taken the opportunity to fall down the bloody stairs!"

Vesta stared at Artemesia, wondering where on earth she had put her wand. Artemesia was in dire need of a sobering spell if she wanted to make any sense. Thankfully, Artemesia was thinking along the same lines and cast one on herself. Vesta waited for a new explanation, and she received one when Artemesia reiterated, "I was going to tell Sirius about both Gemma and Peter, but Terry tripped down a flight of stairs. He suitably explained himself after Sirius left, so I'm not angry or anything, but I did tell Sirius about both of the kids. I just didn't get to the point of explaining why Peter's off in Australia."

"Oh? You two were too busy going at it to get any words in?" Vesta asked nonchalantly.

Artemesia turned bright red. "We were not having sex in the dining room!" she hissed. Sighing, she admitted, "No, I just couldn't find a decent was to explain. Sirius can have quite the temper sometimes. Worse, Terry mentioned Peter was his nephew."

"And you think that will prevent Sirius from figuring anything out," Vesta stated flatly.

Artemesia exclaimed in return, "You're married to his brother! You tell me!"

"If their situations were switched, there would be no problem. Sirius doesn't seem the type to keep secrets wasily, and I would have hunted Terry down myself," Vesta replied logically, wishing she could return to her book. As an afterthought, she added, "And sued for alimony retroactively."

When Artemesia gaped like a fish, Vesta explained, "I married the cute, shy and socially awkward brother, and you have a thing with the outgoing brother. I understand why you're having problems talking to Sirius about your kids, but you don't want to know why my husband is unable to tell his brother the truth."

Artemesia replied pointedly, "If he admitted the truth, he wouldn't stop with just telling Sirius, 'Hey, sorry I faked my death!' Whatever made Regulus cease speaking for as long as he did will make Sirius very willing to go on a rampage."

Vesta looked very serious and said, "Artemesia, don't joke about that." She knew her sisters and cousins had their theories as to why a young man named Terry had suddenly moved in with her as of July 1981. What they hadn't guessed and still didn't know was that she was the only one even associated with the department willing to live with him even though they offered a very lovely salary in addition to free room and board.

"I'm sorry," Artemesia murmured. She shouldn't have joked like that.

Vesta sighed. She had not meant for Artemesia to feel badly about asking for advice, but Artemesia had the tendency to ask for advice almost constantly, and Vesta could only take so much before she lost her temper. Taking a deep breath, she asked her cousin directly, "So exactly what kind of reassurance do you want?"

"That Sirius isn't going to hate me," Artemesia replied in a small voice.

Of course her cousin was going to think something ridiculous like that. "Artemesia, if the man was willing to pursue you without knowing if your daughter was his, despite knowing that if she wasn't, you were probably cheating on him back in the day, then no, he's not going to hate you for neglecting to mention that your son is his, too," Vesta explained patiently. Should she say more? Terry had never asked her not to tell anyone, and if it made Artemesia feel better, then maybe Vesta would be doing the right thing. With a faint smile, Vesta related, "You know, Terry once told me that his brother said you were one of the reasons he kept getting out of bed in the morning." She shrugged and continued, "If it's true, then they're both romantic saps."

"I do not want to know what your pillow talk consists of," Artemesia grumbled, probably hoping Vesta would not share. Vesta considered continuing, but that would be unspeakably mean. Also, Terry would never be able to look Artemesia in the eye again.

"All right," Vesta said, triumphant as she picked up her book again. "I won't talk about my sex life while you are still sadly lacking one yourself." After shooting Vesta a glare, Artemesia was very mature and stuck her tongue out at her in response.

At that point, Auriga stuck her head in the doorway and repeated, "Artemesia still has no sex life?" Artemesia, for her part, squawked indignantly and quickly ushered Auriga out of the room and back into the kitchen where they had been drinking with Diana prior to Artemesia's decision to so rudely interrupt her cousin. Vesta shook her head, amused, and settled back into a comfortable position to read her novel. The only way to make her feel even better was if she had a certain someone to snuggle with. A certain someone who, according to Vesta's watch, should have been back hours ago. It was morning in Australia now, but Victor and Hera might have insisted that Terry stay the night. They had enough room in their house to put up that blond woman, Dorcas, and Vesta's horribly unlucky brother-in-law.

Like clockwork, Terry sat down on the couch next to Vesta before flopping over and maneuvering himself so he was lying down behind her. From the glance she had spared him, Terry looked like he had just run a marathon. He groaned and explained concisely, "Grandmother was there. I told Peter everything. Hera initially thought Sirius wasn't Sirius. Again."

Vesta laughed lightly at that and set her book back down on the table. Smiling, she said, "Well, I'm glad she finally caught on." Terry shook his head, draping his arm over her waist. "You are aware that I'm still horribly injured, and you're hogging most of the couch?" Vesta reminded him, joking.

"Uh-huh," Terry replied, already half-asleep. He could have had a full night's sleep, but he probably resisted even taking so much as a nap so that he didn't disrupt his sleep schedule too terribly, despite the four hours of sleep he had the night before and an obviously stressful trip.

"As much as I appreciate the return of my own personal space-heater, what took you so long?" Vesta inquired gently. She knew he hadn't been dealing with what had happened to her very well. According to Artemesia, the resident self-declared know-it-all, Sirius was worried about his little brother. He wasn't alone in that, either.

"Invited over," was the tired and concise reply.

Vesta said nothing for a moment. Hesitantly, she asked, "Terry? Are you all right?" He only held onto her more tightly and said nothing. That translated approximately to no. She hoped he wasn't having a nervous breakdown before Christmas for the same old reasons, most of which reasons centered around his family. "Terry? Please?"

"It's nothing, Vesta," Terry murmured into her shoulder. "Really, it's nothing." Vesta didn't believe that for a second, but if she tried to convince him to tell her, he would clam up. However, he continued quietly, trying to keep his voice level, "Vesta, I don't know if I want to live through the war. Living means I'll have to tell everyone I lied. It's selfish as hell, and I'm not going to try to do anything even more selfish like killing mys—" He broke off and calmed slightly before continuing, "It's just that sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I was supposed to have died back in '81, back at the lake."

Vesta was glad he was being honest, but she wished he wasn't talking like that. Yes, she had felt he was backsliding into depression again, but hearing him say that didn't make her feel any better. The visit to Australia must have set him off thinking about this, especially if he had explained things to Peter. What exactly had he told Peter, anyway? Vesta could assume he had told his nephew the truth of the matter: that Peter really was Terry's nephew and that Peter's father was a bit of an idiot and trying not to screw up his second chance with Peter's mother.

Had Peter reacted that negatively to the news? Vesta knew Terry wasn't really the most emotionally stable man she had ever known, but he wouldn't have started talking like this if he had been set off by something. So, it had to be Peter's reaction, or this mood was all a reaction to the fact that he was forcing himself to fight. Terry had become progressively less communicative as the year had worn on. Confronting Bellatrix so often had not helped his mental state too much, either. Vesta squeezed Terry's hand reassuringly but said firmly, "You weren't supposed to have died, Terry, and you are sure as hell going to live through the war. I didn't save your life so you could throw it away fifteen years later." She gave him no time to respond and warned, just in case, "And don't think I'll just stand by and let you kill yourself, either. The kids would never recover from that."

"I know, Vesta. I won't," he replied softly. Terry drew a shaky breath, trying not to break down, but Vesta could tell he was still far too tense. She said nothing, letting him take his time to continue. He then went on to explain himself shakily, "I—I know there's something wrong with me, and I don't want the kids to know. I'm starting to wonder if my family's faulty genetics are catching up with me, and I really don't want to be right."

"You're afraid what happened to your mother will happen to you?" Vesta asked quietly. Were she to be honest with herself, she would admit that the thought—the mere possibility—scared her. Terry had given her a rough sketch about what had happened when he was a teenager, but her private opinion was that his mother's illness hadn't been genetic. At least, she hoped not.

"Yes… and no," he replied, sounding broken. More urgently, he continued, "I have to get out of this mess, Vesta. I can't stay in the Death Eaters; I can't kill innocent people. I just can't. You know I can't. I've never…"

Vesta sighed. This was what she had been telling him for the past couple of months. But did he listen? No. However, he wasn't going to quit, even though he wanted to. "I know," she murmured before musing, " 'Do no harm.' You sometimes still think like a doctor, Terry."

He remained silent. Vesta usually didn't remind him of his change in careers for this express reason. He had not been able to continue medical school but not for any lack of skill. No, the idiots who were supposed to have been looking out for her husband's best interests took away one of the last chances he had for his life to return to a state nearing vaguely normal when he most desperately needed it.

Realizing she hadn't induced a reply from him, Vesta reminded him, "You could always tell the Death Eaters you're competent with healing magic. I know you hate helping them, but they might accept that and allow you to be a noncombatant."

"Won't work," Terry replied dully. "I wasn't then, so I couldn't be now. I only managed to stay out of the fighting because Sirius had this bloody ridiculous ability to single me out in a battle and back me into a corner. At that point, he'd have recognized me and told me to go home." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Bellatrix never believed me when I always said I got right schooled in battle. She was right, obviously, but since everyone knew I was a horrible dueler the rest believed it."

Vesta knew this was not particularly the time to bring up any of these topics, considering how he normally hated talking about his past. The reason she was trying to draw out his feelings was that she was afraid he was going to self-destruct if he didn't deal with them. Vesta protested, "But Laurie said you're one of the best the MCIA has on retainer."

Terry scoffed at that and replied acidly, "He doesn't know a hawk from a handsaw." Vesta was ready to drop the topic, but she was surprised when he continued darkly, "They determine how good a dueler is by how quickly it takes you to bring down your opponent and don't care if you use dark magic. What I pulled in those training sessions was not dueling."

Vesta wasn't sure she wanted him to continue if he was only going to depress himself further. She had the feeling that his general lack of sleep couldn't be helping. Disentangling herself from Terry, she sat up, meaning to drag him upstairs to bed. Of course, he misinterpreted her behavior and inferred she was angry with him. He looked surprised for a moment before looking ashamed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he apologized, trailing off. "It was wrong of me to complain. I'm sleeping on the couch, aren't I?"

Wishing he wasn't so obtuse sometimes, Vesta sighed and replied tiredly, "Terry, no. I want to go to sleep, and the couch is not the most comfortable place to do so. Upstairs. Now." He looked sheepish but seemed to have understood she wasn't angry.

A short while later, Vesta was lying awake in bed with Terry curled up beside her, asleep. He had fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow and thankfully even seemed relaxed. Vesta could only hope that he didn't have the nightmares again tonight. She was starting to worry about the increasing frequency. He hadn't been this bad for far over a decade, but Vesta still vividly remembered waking up in the small hours of the morning when he cried out in his sleep a room over. Even when they had merely been roommates, she had always woken him from the nightmares and assured him that he was fine, that he was safe. The broken, terrified look he would have wasn't one Vesta could easily forget. It all could have been yesterday, but that was the problem, though, wasn't it? It had been.

* * *

Regulus woke with a start. He tried to bring his breathing back under control and stop the shaking, but it didn't seem like he was going to be very successful in that regard. As he slowly calmed down, he was glad to notice that he hadn't woken Vesta. He wasn't sure if he could have dealt with trying to reassure her he was all right this time, because if he was being honest with himself, he was the farthest thing from all right.

Gently, he extricated himself from his position wrapped around his wife. She didn't stir, but she did unconsciously attempt to keep him in bed by refusing to let go of his left arm for a moment. As quietly as he could, he walked to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Only then did he let his breathing hitch as he slowly slid down to the floor. Oh, Merlin, why did he have to have that dream tonight? He wouldn't stop shivering, and he felt far too cold. He knew the temperature in the house was around twenty-three degrees, but that didn't stop him from feeling the chill from the memory.

He ran his hand through his hair, which was slick with sweat, and tried not to think about what had followed all those years ago. It wasn't worth remembering, and he didn't have to if he didn't want to. Then, he remembered what came next far too quickly, and he rushed over to the toilet before retching violently. He wouldn't even stop dry heaving once he had emptied his stomach. His chest hurt so much, and he couldn't keep from crying.

Why did he have to remember? _Why?_ Why did his subconscious keep bringing the memory back into the light of day if this was always how his body reacted? He numbly realized he had ceased dry heaving, but he was convulsively sobbing, and that was in some ways worse. On the bright side, he was at least quiet about it, although the fact that he had fifteen years worth of practice outweighed any good.

He curled up on the floor and tried to wait it out. About two hours later, he heard a soft knock on the door and prayed that whoever it was at the door did not happen to be one of the children. He wasn't sure he could bear to explain to any of them why he looked like a mess, not knowing if he was barely able to form a coherent sentence before breaking down. He didn't think he could keep his voice steady for a conversation, though, by any means. "Who—who is it?" he asked, his voice breaking. He sounded hoarse, too. Oh, God, he was still shivering.

"Are you all right?" Vesta asked softly, through the door. When he didn't respond, she quietly unlocked the door with a spell and came in. He must have looked absolutely terrible, because she looked absolutely horrified. She shut and locked the door behind her before sitting on the edge of the bathtub, across from where he was sitting, hugging his knees, with his back against the cabinet underneath the sink. Her facial expression softened as she surveyed his appearance. He really did not want to seem that pathetic. He shouldn't have been. After all, it had been fifteen (fourteen) years, (eleven months, and one day).

Vesta looked down at the ground before moving to sit down next to him. He didn't move, and he figured he hadn't changed his own expression, either. She wasn't touching him. He was surprised she still remembered; he had always assumed that they both wanted to forget. She made a cursory glance at him and asked, "Would you like me to get you a clean set of clothes?"

He didn't move. She frowned, frustrated that she couldn't even coax any sort of answer out of him. Hesitantly, she brushed some of his hair out of his face. To her credit, she didn't react when he flinched at her touch. Vesta only sighed a little and informed him calmly and patiently, "I'm going to get you some clean clothes. Don't worry about the state of the bathroom. When I come back, I'll put the clothes on the counter, so you can take a shower. I'll wait outside until you're finished, and then we can go back to bed, all right?"

He nodded jerkily. She smiled sadly and left before returning and leaving again. He locked the door again before turning on the water to the shower and stripping. When he stepped under the water, it was near scalding, but that felt so much better than the cold. He quickly washed his hair before simply standing under the water for a while, trying to will the pain to go away. It didn't seem to work, so he dressed in the clothes Vesta had left.

When he exited the bathroom, he realized she had indeed waited outside the door. She had fallen asleep, though. He gently picked her up and carried her back to their room. She nuzzled against his chest, and he had a hard time keeping the terrible pain there from overwhelming him. He was to blame for everything that had happened to her. If he hadn't entered her life, she would have been so much better off. She would have had the kind of husband she deserved instead of a nervous wreck who could not hold himself together when faced with a nightmare. She would not be stuck with a broken man incapable of so many feelings. She would be with someone who would love her properly instead of the pathetic attempt he made.

After putting Vesta back in bed, he likewise slipped back under the covers. She automatically scooted backwards so her back was flush with his chest, so he had no choice but to wrap his arms around her again, especially once she reattached herself to his arm. He was in no way worthy of her, but he refused to lie there feeling sorry for himself and settled for just hanging on to her for dear life.

Another hour later, he finally managed to fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Sirius had woken up early again. Granted, he had always awoken early in the morning on Christmas day, but that was beside the point. Remus might have been pissed off at him again when he woke up, and speak of the devil. Remus walked in the room with his hair plastered to one side of his face and looking pretty damn ridiculous. Sirius attempted not to laugh. He really did. Completely on reflex, Remus sleepily muttered, "Shut up, Padfoot."

"Nice hair," Sirius mentioned. Remus only spared a halfhearted glare at him before staring forlornly at the empty coffee maker. Sirius shook his head and walked over to make some more coffee. He wasn't sure when Remus had picked up the bad habit of coffee-drinking. It might have actually been Sirius's fault, but he couldn't remember too well. After Remus had acquired his coffee and the two of them were sitting down at the kitchen table, Sirius grinned and said, "Happy Christmas, Moony."

Remus stared at him blearily before checking the ceiling and underneath his chair. When he decided that neither were booby-trapped, he replied, "Happy Christmas, Padfoot." He sipped his coffee before inquiring quite casually, "You haven't left carnivorous mistletoe hanging around anywhere, have you? I don't quite fancy walking into any."

Sirius shrugged, an amused look on his face. "I don't _think_ there is any around here, but with all the kids staying here right now, you never know. I wouldn't be surprised if the twins imported some for the special occasion," he speculated, enjoying making Remus worry. "Besides, I'm sure Tonks'll come up with a wide variety of excuses to drag you into a closet."

For his part, Remus looked unamused. However, he did wonder, "Why does everyone insist on making out in broom closets, Sirius? I never understood it in school. It was much easier to find a random, abandoned room, and that way you probably had an escape route."

"It was dark. It was cramped. It was an excuse to make out," Sirius explained.

Remus nodded in understanding. He had pursued this line of inquiry at least twice while they had been at Hogwarts, but only when he was completely pissed. It had been a rare occasion when Remus was completely and utterly blasted. James had counted how much alcohol it took to get Remus drunk (24 shots of firewhisky over a night). Sirius was still vaguely in awe of his friend's alcohol tolerance. In the meantime, apparently Remus had gone off in a different mental direction and decided to say out-loud, "I wonder what color Dora's hair's going to be today."

"Red and green, probably," Sirius replied automatically, actually wondering if Remus was slightly drunk. Then again, he might have been laid the night before, which would explain his apparent fascination with Tonks and closets and, to a lesser degree, the state of his hair. As casually as he could, Sirius asked, "Was it good?"

Remus got a shit-eating grin on his face. Sirius took it as a yes. Remus was going to kill him later when he remembered the conversation after he properly woke up, especially if Sirius spoke a word of any of this to, well, anyone. Still kind of off in his little, happy dream world, Remus asked, "Do you remember that time that Dora insisted I marry her? We were babysitting her, weren't we? Merlin, I feel like a perv because of the age difference, but somehow I just can't bring myself to really care."

"She is an adult," Sirius reminded his friend. He and Remus were only about thirteen years older than Tonks, who was indeed obsessed with Remus. Sirius then realized what Remus had said. "Wait. What? I remember that specific time, but are you implying something?"

Remus looked confused for a moment before replying, "Right. No." He flushed and continued, "I was just—The reference—I didn't… I'll just dig myself into a grave if I keep talking." He silenced himself and finished off his cup of coffee.

Sirius refilled Remus's coffee mug before pouring himself a second cup. The two of them sat in silence for a while. Sirius wasn't going to admit that he was waiting for Remus to calm himself and return to the land of the sane. One of them had to be, after all. When Remus seemed sufficiently normal again, Sirius mentioned, "So, I'm giving Harry the other two-way mirror."

Remus looked slightly surprised. "You are?" he asked. "Where did you find them? I was under the impression that you and James lost them at some point, because I certainly remember you badgering me during all of the seventh-year detentions about where James was."

"Not all of them. Only about half," Sirius corrected. He shrugged and explained hesitantly, "I left one at home. Just in case, you know." Remus looked at him inquiringly, and Sirius continued, "On his desk. He'd never used it, but it was there."

Remus smiled and reminded him, "That's still something, isn't it, Padfoot?"

Sirius grimaced and drank his coffee. Remus seemed to be waiting for Sirius to say something. The former prisoner of Azkaban considered making him wait a very long time, but he replied, "Yeah, it is." Sirius still wished his brother had at least contacted him more, even by mail. He wouldn't have cared. Hell, if Reg, alive and well, were to walk up to him tomorrow, Sirius would not have even yelled at him for not mentioning he wasn't dead. Well, not initially, at least. Sirius would yell at him, but he would only do so to keep Reg from running away again.

Remus interrupted his thoughts and said, "Sirius, I have a question. It's been kind of bugging me for a while." He seemed very hesitant to continue, but when Sirius didn't interrupt, Remus continued, "I think I might know who White is, but I don't want to…" He grimaced and rephrased the question, "Would you want to know who I think White is if there was the possibility of me being completely and utterly wrong and thus resulting in you hating me forever and White probably being very confused? Or should I keep my mouth shut until I ask him?"

Sirius was rather surprised that Remus was asking. Granted, Sirius had pretty much given him a dissertation on White, so he supposed that Remus did have enough information to form an opinion. He did wonder who Remus thought White was and why Remus had the feeling that Sirius would not react well. On the other hand, Remus was generally right about these sorts of things, so Sirius could ask him who he thought White was, but Remus also was saying that he didn't think that telling Sirius would go over well. Making his decision, Sirius replied, "I think the latter idea might be better. You still know me better than I do, sometimes."

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence again. Remus was fiddling with his coffee mug, and Sirius was staring blankly at the stove behind him, considering making breakfast just to keep himself busy. Remus finally asked, "Have you decided whether or not to go to St. Mungo's with Harry and the rest?"

Sirius's gaze fell to the table. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure. He was considering taking up the offer White had made before they parted ways three nights prior and visiting 'Sia when Harry went with the Weasleys to St. Mungo's to visit Arthur. Sirius, being as absolutely brilliant about timing as usual, returned to Grimmauld after the trip to Australia just in time to discover that Molly was leaving to go to St. Mungo's because Arthur had been attacked by a giant snake. Sirius had been skeptical for a split second (because _really?_), but he had known that Molly would not joke about a something like that. He had then found all the children in the kitchen (and had tried not to remember when his father had ordered Reggie to the kitchen so he would not see Sirius covered in his own blood).

Remus had come by shortly thereafter, for one reason or another, with Tonks following. Sirius had figured that Dumbledore had contacted Remus or Tonks or both (which would be typical of the conniving coot) because Sirius was still out of the country at that point. Thankfully, the other two had helped Sirius try to keep the children calm, or as calm as they could be in the situation. Remus was the best informed of all of them, so Sirius had stepped outside with him and asked what had happened. Apparently Harry had seen Voldemort's snake attack Arthur and had informed Dumbledore quickly through Phineas's portrait. Arthur was stabilized now, but it had been touch and go for a while that night.

However, Sirius didn't feel like he should go to St. Mungo's with the others. Harry was the one who was so close with the Weasleys, but Sirius was not sure how Harry would take it if he just went off and visited Artemesia and… and his daughter. Sirius grinned automatically. _His daughter_. He had children. God, the thought was terrifying, but he still felt so irrationally happy. Now he had a real reason to live through the war. Yes, he wanted to do good by Harry, and Sirius hated admitting it to himself, but he would have probably rather died in the war had he not known about it all. "I think I'm going to visit 'Sia," Sirius said, feeling slightly guilty.

Remus was not surprised. He said, "I thought as much, Padfoot." Studying Sirius's expression, Remus continued shrewdly, "This decision has nothing to do with Gemma?" Sirius grinned and shrugged, causing Remus to roll his eyes and say, "I thought so. She's eerily like you, do you know that? Artemesia can deny it all she wants, but the kid's undeniably yours. She is honestly the only other person I've ever heard liken me to porridge upon meeting me for the first time."

Sirius snorted. Dorcas frequently called Remus porridge-y, too, but she had initially believed him to have some wasting disease, like consumption. The fall all of them had begun Hogwarts had been some of the weirdest times Sirius had ever experienced. "Well, on the bright side, Remus, I don't think you're like porridge anymore," Sirius reassured his friend. That thought probably was not too reassuring. It was true, though.

Remus rolled his eyes and said ever-sufferingly, "Well, thank Merlin for small favors." He smiled slightly before continuing, "You know, I was always kind of thankful that you put that idea into Dorcas's head. Otherwise she might have continued to treat me like I was a leper."

Sirius protested, "Dorcas wasn't that bad. Sure, she mistakenly thought that the clap was related to consumption for a couple months, but she got over that." He paused and cringed before continuing, "Mostly." Dorcas never really could keep her mouth shut about things. Sirius still slightly wondered the intelligence of letting her do whatever she wanted in his flat—alone and unsupervised—on Christmas. He had invited her to come spend Christmas with everyone at Grimmauld, but Dorcas had decided that she probably shouldn't be the elephant in the room. She furthermore decided that she would not tell Harry of her existence until after Voldemort was dead. Sirius had mentioned that maybe Harry might want to know that his mother had named her (admittedly psychotic yet endearing) friend as Harry's godmother. To be honest, Sirius still wondered why Lily hadn't chosen Alice for that. It confused him, mostly because Lily had always been the sensible one. Then again, Alice was _Alice_.

Remus seemed surprised and mentioned, "I thought that she thought I had haemophilia."

Sirius nodded and reminded him, "Well, you did put her out of her misery about half-way through second year, Remus. I know that was pretty pathetic, but the rest of us did wait for you to do something as opposed to us telling Dorcas the truth."

"It was remarkable restraint on your part, Sirius," Remus commented wryly. Sirius may have deserved that. He had been slightly talkative back in the day, and there had been a couple of close shaves. Sirius knew that Remus wasn't referring to what happened fifth year, though. That had very little to do with Sirius and his former penchant for talking and more to do with his inability to control his temper.

With a grin, Sirius replied, "Gee, thanks, Remus."

"Anytime, Padfoot. Anytime," Remus answered sagely, nodding.

After about a second, Sirius suggested, "Maybe we should start making breakfast or something. I mean, Molly'll come down and shanghai the operation, but I've kind of been up for a couple of hours, and I'll feel bad if Molly comes down with us doing nothing."

"She's going to conscript us for breakfast anyway," Remus pointed out, sipping his coffee. Sirius had to wonder again when Remus had stopped drinking tea. Hell, he had to wonder when _he_ had stopped drinking tea. Sirius had still been drinking tea in '81, but he had to have picked up a taste for coffee sometime else. Actually, Sirius wasn't quite sure why he was drinking coffee in the first place. He still thought it tasted nasty.

"Well, I'm making tea, regardless," Sirius said, still puzzling how he had developed a liking for coffee. It was Reg's fault, after all. Like every good medical student, he had _liked_ shitty coffee, even if he only drank really high quality tea. Sirius sometimes wondered how his brother had ended up so ridiculous. Bloody idiot brother, passing on his bad habits.

Remus rolled his eyes and said, "Well, I guess I'll make some toast or something." He sat in his seat for a moment, staring pensively at the opposite wall, before realizing, "Do we actually have any food items in the house? Please tell me you remembered to get more food."

"I asked Kreacher to go get some," Sirius replied, starting to doubt the intelligence of the decision. He didn't particularly care, as long as there was normal, human food that wasn't poisoned. Remus was staring at him disbelievingly. Sirius explained, "Look, yeah, I do kind of despise the house elf, but Hermione was starting to get to me. She's really not kidding about—oh, God, what did she call it? The Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare?"

"You remembered the title instead of the acronym?" Remus asked, looking mostly amazed at that fact. Then, he became suspicious and demanded jokingly, "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Moony," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. Becoming a bit more serious, he grimaced and justified, "Look, I just realized that no one's really been making an effort to treat Kreacher decently aside from Hermione, who is indeed on a fool's crusade, and Molly, who is trying to recruit him for the massive cleaning job this bloody house is." Remus didn't seem to see the reason for which Sirius had decided to be nicer to Kreacher. Sirius knew he might not have been very clear, but there was a damn good reason. Trying again to explain, Sirius continued, "Look, it doesn't seem fair that Kreacher's kind of being blamed for being stuck in this house with a portrait of my batty mum for about a decade. Before that, most of the people in the house more or less liked Kreacher or at least didn't mind his existence back in the day. We could never tell with Dad, but that's beside the point. In any case, even Kreacher doesn't deserve being ignored or mistreated for parroting my mother's views."

Remus was watching Sirius and asked, "How did Kreacher react?"

"To the request?" Sirius inquired in turn. Remus nodded. Sirius grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. Softly, he replied, "Let's just say I became sufficiently guilty to promise him I wouldn't dismantle my parents' bedroom."

"You did what?" Remus said in surprise. "Wait, you told him you wouldn't clean out the master bedroom because you felt guilty?" He seemed slightly confused before checking what exactly the food supplies were composed of. Remus seemed to be staring in horror, and Sirius tried not to wince. Apparently Kreacher had not been pleased. Sirius really did not understand house elves. Remus was still stunned when he said, "Sirius, your house elf is odd." He paused and realized with some actual horror, "Sirius, you might not have noticed, but the house is _clean_. The room Tonks and I… crashed in was effectively a toxic waste dump over the summer."

Sirius blinked. "I thought there was less dust," he commented, wondering how he had missed that. Of course, why in the world would Kreacher have suddenly decided to be generally pleasant? Or, at least, not belligerent. Hesitantly, Sirius asked, expecting the worst, "Remus, tell me. How horrible is the food? Please tell me he didn't get—"

"Sirius, there's spam in the refrigerator. Next to the caviar. The new caviar. Along with—Why the hell is there Turkish delight in the icebox?" Remus wondered. After a very brief pause, he continued, "You know what? I don't want to know. Suffice to say, you should have made some degree of peace with Kreacher earlier." Remus thus started rummaging through the cupboards. He took out a loaf of dark brown bread, which he treated quite reverently, and set it on the table and set out looking for the butter. Sirius noticed that there was actually food—good food—in the kitchen. He was now thoroughly confused.

"Remus? Why is that bread the holy grail?" Sirius asked, quite surprised Kreacher had actually done what he had asked. Maybe Kreacher's change of heart had something to do with that Order meeting when White insisted on slamming his head into the table. Kreacher had actually been approaching pleasant when he had decided to make a tactical retreat.

"Grandma fed it to me all the time whenever my family visited Belfast to see her and Granddad. Rom was always an ass and said French bread was better, but I knew better," Remus replied, still running around the kitchen, surveying all the food. "I know you are skeptical of all of my exaggerations, but the bread is indeed godly."

Sirius smiled and nodded. There was something very strange going on in the House of Black. If he didn't know better, he would have blamed Reg.

Actually, he was still going to blame Reg.

(Bloody little brother getting him addicted to coffee.)

* * *

Macha was greatly displeased. Her mother and father were acting far too lovey-dovey for her tastes, and her brother was currently absorbed in the book Gemma had given him. Gemma was off being Gryffindor-like in the kitchen, attempting to help Aunt Diana make cookies or something. Aunt Artemesia was supervising with a fire blanket at hand and the fire-extinguishing spell in mind. That arrangement left Macha sitting in the front room with her bookworm brother, whose admittance into Hufflepuff still confused her, and her parents, who were currently more interested in each other at the moment.

Fine, so she was reading, too, but that was different. It was a book on the war with Grindelwald. Military history. Not that sappy stuff her brother read. Macha's father didn't much like her fascination with the initial war with Voldemort, however. He always was very nervous about the books, and Macha wasn't quite sure why. As a result, she wasn't allowed to read any of the interesting versions of what had happened. Any book she read on the subject was so bowdlerized that it was rendered mind-numbingly boring. When Macha had pointed this out to her father, he had read one of them himself and agreed with her. He still wouldn't let her read any of the other books on the subject, especially that account supposedly written by a real Death Eater. Macha had never particularly wanted to read that book, but her father's distinct dislike of it made her want to see what all the fuss was about.

Hence why she had checked it out from the library at school. She had read up to about halfway through the book, to the point in which the war really started to escalate. The writer hadn't been very specific, but there had been some big debate among the Death Eaters about whether or not to kill "blood traitors," which is what they called purebloods who took the side of this mysterious group the writer simply called the "Order." In any case, there had been some internal nonsense that resulted in the inner circle of the Death Eaters killing one of their own who had betrayed them quite spectacularly. Afterwards, it had been used as part of that debate and resulted in the decision that escalated the war, to intentionally target blood traitors. Macha was kind of surprised that no one had noticed that whoever it was had been spying or whatever, but this guy was supposedly pretty much one of the hardliners. Until, of course, they found out he was actually kind of the opposite.

She didn't want to consider why there hadn't been much text devoted to an event that seemed to have been kind of important. Yes, there had been many other factors, like how the Death Eaters would kill whoever got in their crosshairs during a battle, regardless of blood purity, but Macha had read enough of the book to realize that whatever was afforded very little text indicated something really gruesome. Macha had already made a mental note to look up whoever had been killed around the time indicated to get the real story, or at least what they said in the newspapers. The newspapers had to be at least a little trustworthy, right?

Macha resumed reading her book on Grindelwald. She shortly came across another mention of some other order. Turning the page, she found out that it was actually called the Order of the Phoenix and had been founded during that war to coordinate underground movements to take down Grindelwald. They had had contacts with the French Resistance and other scattered groups across Europe, but the witches and wizards in this organization had been devoted to the war with Grindelwald, even if they were aware of the danger posed by the Nazis. Macha looked at the picture of the people in the Order back in the day and wondered who in their right mind would name a child Aberforth. (Granted, one of the other names, Alphard, wasn't much better, but at least Alphard could be shortened into something normal. Actually, she kind of liked that name.) Furthermore, Macha wondered if this Order and the Order the Death Eaters fought were one and the same. Obviously, there would have been a changing of the guard, but there was also the possibility that this was a completely different organization.

Macha was starting to become bored. She wished that Gemma and Aunt Diana would stop fooling around in the kitchen so everyone could watch movies and do other stuff, like normal. She spared a glance over her shoulder and was frustrated to see that her parents were still being sappy. Macha's frustration faded, though, as she thought about how her dad wasn't sleeping well again. She was a relatively light sleeper, and she tended to wake up when anyone made a decent amount of noise. Granted, she fell asleep again almost immediately, but that was beside the point. She figured she got her absymal sleeping powers from someone on her dad's side of the family, because Leo and Gemma slept like rocks.

The fact of the matter was that her dad was having those problems again, and it scared Macha. Her mom had seemed really worried for the past couple of days. The last time anything like this had happened, Macha and Leo had been about five, but that had been an isolated incident. The only reason Macha remembered was that she had seen her mom trying to calm her dad down. Leo had been like a rock even then, too, so Macha was the only one who had noticed anything was wrong. Now, Macha vaguely wished she hadn't seen anything, especially because of the war going on. She hoped her dad didn't do anything stupid like volunteer.

"Hey, squirt, you okay?" her dad asked kind of suddenly. Still sitting on the couch she had been leaning against, he looked kind of concerned. Macha's mom was missing, probably off trying to salvage what had resulted from the cooking debacle. Not really feeling like answering verbally, Macha nodded. Her dad grinned and ruffled her hair. "Good. Hopefully your mom and Aunt Artemesia'll be able to save at least some of the food. I think your cousin might have inherited the bad-cooking genes," he answered cheerfully. "How's the book?"

Macha shrugged, still feeling vaguely unhappy. She replied, "It's okay. I think I'm going to give in and borrow one of Leo's fantasy books, but I'm at this part where they're talking about this group called the Order of the Phoenix. Have you ever heard of it?"

Her dad had this weird look on his face, like he was somewhere between unsurprised, resigned, and amused. "Yeah. Your uncle was in it during the first war with Voldemort," he replied unhelpfully. Well, it was helpful. It meant that the Order that the Death Eater talked about was the same as the one in the war with Grindelwald. That, and her dad had just now filled his quota for mentioning his brother for the year and was therefore unlikely to say anything more about her uncle for another twelve months. Her father seemed a little puzzled, though, and asked, "It was around during the Second World War? Was Dumbledore a part of the Order then, too?"

Macha raised an eyebrow. It was true, but how did her father know who was in the Order if he didn't really seem to know the history of it? "Yes and yes," she replied. A thought then entered her head—maybe the reason her dad didn't want her reading about the war with Voldemort had to do with him fighting in it. If he had, that was. She couldn't really see it herself, but strange things happened every day. Macha imagined he had volunteered. She couldn't see him running around with the Order of the Phoenix, though. Probably worked for the government then, too. That made sense, because, her dad, fighting in a war? It just didn't really work.

"Imagine that," her dad replied with a grin before becoming distracted. Was Macha surprised? No. Her dad sometimes had the attention span of an incredibly skittish cat. The expression on her dad's face hadn't changed in the slightest. (If Macha were being honest with herself in that corner of her mind that wished she were in Hufflepuff with her brother, she would admit that her father's expression seemed happier.) Turning back to Macha, her dad said, "Well, baby girl, I have to go answer the door, but I'll be back in a second. Why don't you pick a movie for all of us to watch?" He ruffled her hair again before standing to go answer the door. Macha really kind of disliked it when he did that. It completely messed her hair up.

Shortly thereafter, Macha heard the door open. She wondered who it was for a moment before hearing a familiar voice say, "Hey, White. Happy Christmas. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by." Macha continued to try to puzzle out who had said that before realizing she heard that voice twice a week (Mondays and Thursdays). Why the hell had her father invited her professor over? Was he insane? Well, yes, Macha's dad was in fact a loony, but this was a whole new level. "It's still all right, right?"

"Yes, of course it is. I wouldn't have suggested this otherwise," Macha's dad replied, sounding generally amused by her professor, and invited him in, shutting the door behind him. "How long are you staying? I know you probably have a house full of people to entertain today."

Black laughed kind of nervously and answered, "Well, I actually do. Did you hear about Arthur Weasley? Harry's off with the Weasleys visiting Arthur at St. Mungo's right now. I don't know why Hermione's staying with all of us for Christmas, but she is, too, and she's probably having some sort of intelligent breakfast conversation with Tonks, who was left unoccupied when Remus went to go visit his parents briefly. I can't stay for long." Macha wondered who Tonks and Remus were, also why someone would name a child Tonks.

Macha wasn't alone in her confusion, because her dad repeated, "Tonks?"

"Nymphadora Tonks. My cousin Andromeda's daughter," Black explained.

"Oh. I don't much blame her, then, for using her last name," Macha's dad said. Macha didn't, either. Why would someone name their child Nymphadora? What a weird name. Then again, said person were related to her professor, so Macha was not too surprised. "Before I forget, we're meeting on the sixth, right?"

Black paused for a moment before saying, "That's right." There was another moment of silence in which Macha decided that she did not want to know. Whatever was going on was obviously none of her business, although she did wonder why her dad and Black were meeting two days before classes restarted.

Macha's dad apparently decided that the silence was starting to be slightly awkward and said, "Well, I'll go get Artemesia." He probably turned to leave but then remembered he was in fact a civilized human being and asked, "Would you like to sit down somewhere—" Macha hoped her father was not about to suggest the front room. She would be greatly displeased. It wasn't that she didn't like Black; he wasn't exactly her favorite teacher. Plus, _he was her teacher_. Yes, her dad was absolutely crazy. "—or would you prefer loitering in the hall?"

Black laughed a bit and said, "Thanks, but I'll loiter. I don't really want to intrude." Macha slightly revised her opinion of her professor. He was okay. She might even approve. "It is Christmas, after all. Plus, I have a feeling that your kids might think it odd that I'm here."

Macha knew her dad was going to contradict Black. He could be too polite. "No doubt," Macha's dad agreed, causing Macha to wonder if she had fallen into the Twilight Zone. Decisively, her dad continued, "Well, I'll go find Artemesia now."

Macha saw her dad head off in the direction of the kitchen as he passed the door to the front room. She heard Black chuckle softly and murmur, "I can't believe … completely twitchy."

Deciding Black was referring to her dad, Macha muttered in agreement, "Amen to that," before resuming reading the book about World War II, Grindelwald, and the Order of the Phoenix. After all, some things were best left well alone. (When she discovered Alphard had a sister named Walburga, she cringed and swore she'd find better names, like Zosma or Ted.)

* * *

**_Notes:_** _You may have noticed that there is an emotional 180° in this chapter. Regulus is going to continue to have problems, and I thought it prudent to warn everyone, just in case. The sections aren't common, but one of my beta readers suggested that I should make trigger warnings. If anyone has a suggestion on what form they should take or for what there should be warnings, please don't hesitate to tell me. The same goes for if anyone thinks I should put trigger warnings in parts previous. As always, I appreciate everyone's feedback no matter how small, and I hope you have enjoyed this chapter.  
_

**_Coming Soon_**_: An actual step forward in the horcrux hunt. (Heaven forbid.)_


	39. Empty Spaces

"So, Mr. Baron, do you have any clue where Helena Ravenclaw was last seen?" Dorcas asked, taking notes with a fountain pen on a cheap notebook. She had decided to dress like a reporter today. Terry was beyond asking why. There was just no point anymore. Dorcas could do as Dorcas pleased. Sirius seemed to be paying attention if only because he was much more susceptible to staring at train wrecks and other morbidly fascinating events. Terry felt that this was going to go nowhere, especially if Dorcas was the one in charge of the investigation.

The Bloody Baron stared at Dorcas like she was the thickest person he had ever met. Terry wondered if it had been intelligent to let her handle the talking. She usually was decent at making conversation with normal people. Well, she usually could be subtler than Sirius and he combined. Unexpectedly, the Bloody Baron narrowed his eyes and asked suspiciously, "Why?"

"We're trying to kill Voldemort," Dorcas replied cheerfully, obviously thinking that the Bloody Baron would respond well to that sort of answer. Terry and Sirius had their doubts. "You see, Ms. Ravenclaw may have some information crucial to the war effort."

Turning to Sirius and Terry, who both looked slightly horrified by their friend, the Bloody Baron inquired, "Daft?" When he received no clear answer save the expressions on Terry and Sirius's faces, the Bloody Baron nodded knowingly. Terry vaguely wondered if the Bloody Baron had ever known someone like Dorcas when he had been alive. Making his decision, the Bloody Baron informed the three of them, "Hall," before departing down the hallway.

When the ghost had turned the corner, Terry mentioned thoughtfully, "You know, I remember him being a lot more talkative back in my school days." He had not thought that Dorcas would get any information out of the Bloody Baron, although Terry did doubt the usefulness of the information. Hall? What the hell did that mean?

Sirius grimaced and glared at Dorcas. "Great. You managed to piss off one of the only two Hogwarts ghosts who have been around since the bloody Founders!" he snapped. Terry started to doubt the intelligence of this method of searching for the location of the horcrux. He should have kept in mind the fact that Sirius would probably be very irritable about all this. "What the fuck did he mean by 'hall'? What hall? Here? The Great Hall? Some hall in a random castle? God only knows where Helena Ravenclaw is!" Sirius slammed his fist into the wall.

Dorcas stopped acting mostly ridiculous and sobered considerably, murmuring, "Sirius…" She looked rather guilty. Terry didn't think she should feel badly. The Bloody Baron had told them probably all he would. Terry remembered that the Baron had never taken inquiries into his past all too well, and the fact that Dorcas had actually been able to get the information that she had was pretty damn impressive. "I'll be less blunt with the Grey Lady," she promised.

Terry started to wonder about the intelligence of his decision to include Sirius in this particular task. Sirius was probably angry with himself more than with Dorcas. At least, Terry thought that Sirius was angry with himself. Generally, Sirius didn't punch walls when he was angry with other people, only when he was angry with himself. Trying to defuse the situation, Terry said placatingly, "Look, Sirius, it's all right. If we can't get anything out of the Grey Lady, then I'll just try to figure it out from what Voldemort says. Really, Sirius, it's fine. If we run into a dead end here, then we'll go get the other horcruxes, and I'll try to get the truth out of Voldemort. I can do it. I don't know how yet, but I could probably figure something out."

Sirius seemed to be reining in his anger. He was leaning against the wall. Terry looked off to the side. He had never really been good at calming Sirius down. Why should he be able to now? However, Sirius straightened and apologized, "I'm sorry, Dorcas. I don't know what came over me. Maybe I shouldn't have come here for this."

Dorcas shook her head and replied reassuringly, "No, Sirius. I understand. It's fine." Terry wasn't sure how she could deal with Sirius so easily. Hell, he didn't know how she could deal with a great many people so easily. Dorcas had always been there to cheer everyone up, and she had always listened to their problems. Terry had no clue why she stayed friends with the two of them. If Sirius wasn't having issues, Terry was, and neither of them ever became better.

Terry turned his back on the both of them. To tell the truth, Sirius was right. Everything was hopeless were the Grey Lady not to know anything. Terry couldn't find anything out from Voldemort without being found out himself. If that happened, Voldemort would probably hand him over to Bellatrix again. Terry tried not to think about that and started hyperventilating. He couldn't fall to pieces here. He just couldn't. Terry leaned against the wall to steady himself. It wasn't working too well. Falling apart would be a bad thing. Dorcas would become worried, and Sirius would behave like he usually did, and none of them would be happy in the slightest.

Sirius turned to look at him sharply and rushed over. He put a hand on Terry's shoulder to stabilize him. "Are you all right?" he asked, obviously worried. Terry nodded, trying to calm himself down. There was no way he was going to let Sirius think that he was doing poorly. He wasn't. He was fine. Absolutely, positively fine. "White, Dorcas and I can handle talking to the Grey Lady. Look, I'm sure Pompom wouldn't mind if you crashed in one of the cots."

Terry shrugged Sirius's hand off his shoulder and snapped, "I'm bloody fine, Sirius." He stood slightly off to the side and said, "Look, let's just look for the Grey Lady, all right?" Terry was trying not to notice that Dorcas and Sirius, even more so, were looking concerned. He was fine. This was just an isolated incident. Nothing to worry about.

Like a godsend, the Grey Lady then turned the corner and started floating down the hall toward them. Terry was glad there was something now to distract his overprotective brother and friend. How was he supposed to address the ghost? Ma'am might not go over too well. Milady sounded a bit too… intimate for some reason. Terry decided to leave the talking to Dorcas. She would probably know what to say, and hopefully Sirius wouldn't punch the wall again. Unexpectedly, Sirius was the one who spoke first and asked, "Excuse me, ma'am? May we ask you some questions?" As if that was some sort of sign, Dorcas snapped into Auror-mode, too.

The Grey Lady stopped, surprised that she was being talked to. She glanced at each of the three before her gaze settled on Sirius, and she asked, "Of course, young man. You are a professor here currently, correct? It is hard to keep track of time, and it likewise isn't often that anyone who had not been in Ravenclaw talks to me. What is it that you would like to know?"

Terry blinked. Well, that was easy. Maybe Sirius should have talked to the Bloody Baron? Then again, they might have not drawn more information out of that ghost. The Bloody Baron disliked talking to anyone, but he would only really speak in multiple syllables to Slytherins. (The Hufflepuff ghost, on the other hand, was downright loquacious. Terry remembered once hiding in a broom closet to avoid him.) The Grey Lady was turning out to be one of the less reserved ghosts who wasn't unceasingly talking. Sirius asked, "Do you by any chance know where Helena Ravenclaw was last?"

The Grey Lady looked slightly surprised that she was being asked that question. Terry took it as a good sign. She might actually know, or even better know about what may have happened to the diadem. (Terry knew Voldemort had to have found the diadem. It was the only relic of Ravenclaw's that held any significance whatsoever. Likewise, the only reason Voldemort had not searched for a possession of Gryffindor's was because Gryffindor only left that sword that could only be taken from the Sorting Hat by an heir of Gryffindor by blood or worth.) "Well, yes," she replied, somewhat bemused. "I'm Helena Ravenclaw. Why, perchance, are you searching for me?" Terry supposed they would have to tell her the whole truth, but she continued suspiciously, "You aren't more treasure-seekers searching for my mother's diadem, are you?"

"No, ma'am, we're not," Dorcas replied frankly, acting suspiciously like she was a cop in _Law and Order_. Sirius didn't leave her alone with only a television, did he? "We're searching for the possible location of a Dark item that may have been fashioned with the aid of the diadem." Subtle. Terry was slightly amazed at the degree to which Dorcas was beating around the bush.

That explanation apparently piqued the Grey Lady's curiosity. "Oh, really? Whatever could have been made? I understand that none have been able to synthesize any of the great Dark objects since my mother's time, and even Salazar had dared not touch that branch of magic."

This conversation seemed to be becoming a history lesson. Terry wanted to know of what the Grey Lady was speaking. Did she know about horcruxes? Did they dare ask her outright? Apparently Sirius and Dorcas had fallen back into deep Auror-mode, so there was no chance that they would ask her. After all, the horcruxes seemed to be on a need-to-know basis, which was true, but who would the Grey Lady tell? Sirius informed her, "If you could tell us where you left the diadem, then we could check that it was in its resting place. I swear that we would leave it be were we to discover it still there."

"I regret that I will not tell you," the Grey Lady replied. "The oaths of wizards do not instill much faith in the current era. I trust you are not thieves; however, I do not believe you of enough moral fiber not to seize my mother's diadem. It has great potential for good but also great potential for evil. Even if you laid claim to the best of intentions, others could use the diadem for the Dark. I refuse to have the blood of innocents on my hands."

"If we're right, you already do," Terry mentioned. Dorcas gave him a look telling him to shut up, but he reasoned, "You said it yourself. Dark wizards or witches could use the diadem for ill. We think someone of very ill intentions stole it. Please, is there anything you can tell us?"

The Grey Lady regarded Terry for a moment. She glanced at Dorcas and Sirius, both of whom seemed to be slightly irritated that Terry had interrupted the informal interrogation, before inquiring of Terry, "What exactly was undertaken? Rings of power were made anathema by order of Merlin. Even Morgan Le Fey was in agreement with that edict. None may resurrect the lifeless upon pain of death. The forging of mythril is not Dark, although the skill has passed into the sands of time save the bulwark of the goblins. True travel through the river of time requires a power greater than imagining. Unless we speak of machinations of a complexity worthy of the trickster Loki, I see not what may have been fashioned. Thus, I cannot believe you."

Sirius sent Terry a look indicating he should keep his mouth shut for the moment and countered, "We do not mean to steal the diadem. We mean to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, and we would rather die than let it fall into the hands of those who would do evil."

"I have already declined to tell you," the Grey Lady said stonily. "Nothing may change my mind. Were you to have said you were to destroy it, I might have trusted you to do so. However, you seem intent on the location. I have spoken to few in recent memory who were not only interested in my mother's heirloom, and when I encounter looters, I wish it destroyed."

Terry glared at Sirius. If his idiot brother hadn't stopped him, Terry would have said that they needed to destroy the diadem. Dammit. There was no way they were going to get any information out of the Grey Lady about the horcrux. Strangely, Dorcas looked oddly thoughtful. Sirius was becoming frustrated, but he was long from giving up. Sirius asked one last time: "Please tell us what happened to the diadem. I swear on…" Terry figured Sirius was trying to figure out what would placate the Grey Lady. He had the feeling that swearing on anything less than the past four generations of their family wouldn't cut it. Terry just hoped that Sirius remembered what was necessary. The Grey Lady was already unimpressed with the behavior of the past couple of generations. "I swear on the honor of my entire family, I will not allow the diadem to fall into the wrong hands and will destroy it if you so wish."

"Which family?" the Grey Lady asked, eyes narrowed. Terry let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, but the reprieve was short-lived. The Grey Lady continued, listing some restrictions: "I trust no Peverell, the Malfoys speak no truth, and all progeny of Slytherin are abhorrent in my eyes. Knowing this, speak."

Sirius was understandably nervous, but he admitted nonetheless, "I'm House of Black."

"A worthy claim," the Grey Lady agreed. Terry had a feeling that there was something amiss. What could the problem be, though? If the Grey Lady didn't particularly care about everything associated with the Black family, then why would she still be suspicious? The Grey Lady didn't doubt Sirius, did she? Apparently she did, because she continued, "However, your countenance betrays you. Ask me no more where my mother's lost treasure rests."

Sirius looked slightly angry with himself and glanced over at Dorcas to see if she had any ideas. Dorcas nodded, and Sirius stepped out of the way so Dorcas could address the Grey Lady. "Ma'am, ignore him. He's not exactly the best person at talking, you know? Been locked in Azkaban, all that jazz," Dorcas started nonchalantly. Terry winced. Oh, this was not going to be good. Sirius seemed to be fine with what Dorcas was saying, which was again not normal. Dorcas then asked, sounding very professional, "We understand that you are disinclined to tell any of us the location of the diadem. However, we do need to know if it has fallen into the possession of the man we think it has. Thus, since you will not tell us the location of the diadem, could you inform us of who else has asked about it in the past seventy-five years or so?"

The Grey Lady mulled the question over before replying, "That would be satisfactory." Glancing over at Sirius, whom she seemed to have taken an extreme disliking to in the last few minutes, the Grey Lady informed the three of them, "There have been seven who sought fortune and glory, four who sought to become enlightened, and one who has spoken to me just to speak."

"Do you know the name of the last?" Dorcas inquired. Terry wondered why she would ask about the final one. It would have been more likely that Voldemort cut to the chase. He always did. Then again, the Grey Lady did not take kindly to people who looked for the diadem.

"Oh, I am not sure I remember," the Grey Lady answered, ruminating. She stopped for a moment before answering decisively, "No, it was that dark-haired boy. During that second great war all of the students were going on about, this boy had a conversation with me about what life had been like during the time of my mother and her colleagues. I unfortunately was diverted off topic when I mentioned the diadem. He was the only one I have told the location of the diadem, but now I recognize the folly in having done so. This boy, a half-blood named Riddle, could have gone on to do horrible things, especially if he had acquired the diadem. I only realized later his slight likeness to Salazar's demon spawn. Not even a seven by seven-fold curse could adequately punish that line." Regarding him very intently, the Grey Lady addressed Terry, "If you do find my mother's diadem, destroy it. Power that great should no longer remain to be again purloined and its true function and intentions distorted."

Despite the fact that Terry was confused as to why the Grey Lady had charged him of the three of them to destroy the horcrux, he replied honestly, "I never had a different intention."

The Grey Lady looked puzzled for a moment before becoming very grim. Terry figured that she might have eliminated all the other alternatives and decided that the only remaining possibility was the truth or a related best guess. "It is for the best," she repeated. Again speaking to the three of them, she said, "I wish you luck. May the grace of God be with you."

The Grey Lady then continued the way she had initially been intent on going. The two ex-Aurors and the ex-Death Eater were mostly shocked into silence as she left. After the Grey Lady had left the area, Dorcas recovered first and said, "I can't believe she essentially just told us, 'May the Force be with you.' Can you believe that? Christ in a dinghy!" She shook her head in disbelief before continuing chipperly, "Well, at least we know what happened now!"

Sirius turned to Dorcas and asked, "Why the hell did she decide to despise me?"

"Your devilishly good looks," Dorcas quipped. "Obviously." The response caused Sirius to stare at Dorcas like she had finally gone absolutely completely mad (as opposed to mostly completely mad). Turning to Terry, she then asked, "So, now what?"

"We reanalyze the situation," Terry replied, a little disheartened. They had to reconstruct when exactly Voldemort may have stolen the diadem and then guess as to where it could be as a result. Reasoning aloud, he continued, "Okay. We know Voldemort has an obsession with Hogwarts, right? He had Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, and now we know for sure he acquired Ravenclaw's diadem. Maybe in order to make up for his inability to get anything from Gryffindor, he hid the diadem near Godric's Hollow?"

"Couldn't have," Sirius reminded him. "Order used to make periodic sweeps of the area. Plus, there was that one time we had to comb the area. Someone would have noticed. I doubt Voldemort would be stupid enough to hide part of his soul near where Dumbledore lives."

"Good point," Dorcas said. "That and Voldie hates all Gryffindor-like people."

"True enough," Terry conceded. Of course, he had already eliminated the possibility of one of the horcruxes belonging to Gryffindor, so the point Dorcas made followed. "What else could he have done? All of the other horcruxes are in Britain, so it's probably safe to say that the diadem is here. However, we've still the problem of where. Could he have hid it on Avalon?"

"No. The island's been interdicted for ages," Dorcas replied, knowledgeable in these sorts of matters. Terry still wondered why she knew so much about Arthurian legends and the grail myth. "No outsider is allowed on the island, and no inhabitant is allowed off without special permit. Been like that for ages. Voldemort would not have been able to convince a native witch—priestess or not—or wizard to smuggle the horcrux to the island. They probably would have sensed his unholy presence from a mile off."

"And before you ask, there's a snowball's chance in hell that Voldemort snuck it onto Azkaban," Sirius mentioned. "The dementors would have gone nuts with a horcrux around. It would probably be like a dementor's version of crack, and someone would notice if the dementors were spending an inordinate amount of time in one area like that."

"Then we've decided that the search can be narrowed down to just the island of Great Britain?" Terry asked. Dorcas shrugged, and Sirius nodded. Nervous, Terry started pacing. "Okay. Oh, shit…" He ran his hand through his hair. There was no way in hell they would be able to narrow the search down, and the island was far too large, and they were only three people, and… "How about—" he started before remembering that Voldemort hid the ring in Little Hangleton. Dammit! "No, that doesn't work. Maybe there was a second in the cave?"

Sirius was watching Terry with some concern, but Dorcas exclaimed, "Wait! Guys, I have the most brilliant idea!" Both of the brothers turned to pay attention to her. "We're in Hogwarts, right? And Voldie's obsessed with Hogwarts, right? Then maybe he hid the diadem _in_ Hogwarts!" Terry was skeptical. It couldn't be that simple, could it? Sirius seemed undecided, however. Dorcas continued, "Next, remember that one time in second year, Sirius? When some wizard went to interview with Dumbledore to become the Defense teacher and we could never keep a DADA teacher for more than a year ever again?"

"Well, of course I do. I mean, Narcissa had been completely freaked out that day, and the newts in her soup hadn't helped, but there were a lot of students who had been on edge," Sirius remembered. "The man'd been pretty damn tall, weird red eyes…" Sirius stopped in realization and demanded, "You think that was Voldemort? It might fit. I don't know how many of the horcruxes had been made by then, but if he had maybe made another between then and when we enrolled in the Aurors, then he might have changed enough in appearance."

"If Voldemort was here that recently, then he would have hidden the diadem in the castle," Terry said. Voldemort would have done anything to get the better of Dumbledore, and that was just subversive enough to work. Keeping one of your greatest foibles in striking range of your enemy without their knowledge would render it practically invisible to the enemy. "So then we're looking at a systematic search of the castle?"

Dorcas grimaced, making a face that seemed like she had just eaten something very unsavory, and said, "I don't want to run around every hall of Hogwarts. Sure, Sirius might be able to get us a map, but shouldn't we check the really obvious places and the secret passages?" She paused for a moment before asking, "Say, Sirius, didn't you tell me that there's someone who's taken to haunting the halls? Scaring the first years, but not much else?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and explained to Terry, "There's this new ghost or man who's been wandering around the castle. The prefects have been complaining to me, because they've been bombarded with complaints from the first years. What it sounds like to me is that we have someone of an indeterminate age running around in the corridors in the walls. None of us Marauders ever acquainted ourselves with the system. It was ridiculously complicated, and there were easier ways. Yes, we'd use the system occasionally, but it was usually easier to just run around in the Invisibility Cloak. Also, sightings of this guy have been around the library and the kitchen. I personally thought that we might have a case of a seventh year playing tricks on the underclassmen, but maybe something is amiss."

"I vote we go to the kitchen, then, and see what's going on, recruit this guy, should he exist, and find the bloody horcrux," Dorcas proposed. When no one contradicted her immediately, she exclaimed, "Lovely! To the kitchens!" Faced with no other alternative, Sirius and Terry followed her as she skipped down the halls.

Terry had hoped that there would not be a conversation, but when did his brother do something logical? Never? That sounded about right. "White, are you sure you're fine?" Sirius asked as they walked, half watching Terry, and looking a little worried.

Why was everyone so bloody worried about him? He was perfectly fine! Perfectly! (If perfectly meant that he wasn't on the verge of a nervous breakdown.) "I am, Sirius. Please stop asking," he replied tiredly. "Can we just go looking for the diadem? We'll figure out how to destroy it later, but I don't think I could deal with anything more than finding it today."

"Not sleeping well, then?" Sirius asked, apparently intent on getting the answer he wanted out of Terry. Who had told Sirius about what was wrong with him? He didn't put it past Artemesia, but she might not have said anything for near the same reason.

"I'm fine," Terry replied curtly. "There is nothing wrong with me." Oh, look, a lie.

"I don't believe you," Sirius said stubbornly. Apparently the lie radar was working just fine. That was bloody brilliant. "What's going on, White?" he asked conversationally.

"Nothing. There is nothing wrong, so stop asking, dammit!" Terry growled. He was not going to talk about it, and there was no way in hell he was going to admit that he was having problems. Sirius was fucked up enough on his own. He didn't need to know why Terry was even worse off. That, and Terry didn't want Sirius to go try to kill Bellatrix. Wouldn't work.

"Bellatrix did something to you, didn't she?" Sirius decided, still phrasing his words in the form of a question. He shook his head and had a murderous look on his face. Sirius muttered, "I'll fucking kill her." Terry assumed that Sirius was so vehement because he was thinking about more than just what could have happened in the past couple of months. Otherwise, that would mean that Sirius had become suitably attached to him to treat him like this, which was not a very happy thought because there were few people for whom Sirius had ever been this overprotective. Terry knew that he had never been one of them. After all, the last time Sirius had spoken to him before his last visit had been months prior, before he had been branded with the Dark Mark.

"If you did that, they'd kill you," Terry reminded him, feeling slightly morbid and wishing the conversation would end. Sirius would just get more worked up about all of it, and Terry did not want to have to calm him down.

"I know."

Terry stopped. What had Sirius just said? Horrified, he managed to demand, "What?"

Likewise, Sirius stopped and sighed. Turning to face Terry, he said, "Look, I've no intention of hunting dear old Bella down and killing her. The battlefield is so much more convenient. Besides, White, you worry far too much." He paused, looking slightly guilty, before continuing, "And you admitted she has done something. Or, at least, you didn't deny it."

"Bella didn't do anything to me!" Terry lied vehemently.

"Then why do you flinch whenever anyone touches you?" Sirius demanded in return.

Terry stiffened. Sirius had noticed? Of course he would! Terry should have figured. He should have. Time for some damage control. "I don't flinch," he denied, trying to sound more steadfast than petulant. "Look, it's nothing important, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing wrong with me. You were right the first time: I just haven't been sleeping well lately. That's all."

Sirius shook his head, but he didn't argue. With a sigh, he said stoically, "Let's just go, all right? Dorcas is probably already running around the kitchens like a loon." Terry stared at him for a moment before they resumed walking to the kitchens in silence.

When they arrived, Dorcas was just jumping around the corridor. Terry had always vaguely wondered why everyone and not just her close friends had decided that she was a kangaroo in a past life. Now, he wished he didn't. "Was she always like this?" he asked Sirius.

Apparently having decided to pretend their last conversation did not exist, Sirius said long-sufferingly, "Oh, yes. I don't know if you remember, but she had James transfigure her into a kangaroo so she could 'accidentally' beat up the Slytherin quidditch team." Sirius paused for a moment before reminiscing, "As it so happened, Reg hid himself in a locker. The temporary Gryffindor seeker was terrible, though, so Reg ended up having to put his own team out of its misery and catch the snitch. I'm pretty sure we had about a thousand points by then."

"Nine-hundred and forty," Dorcas corrected, ceasing her bouncing. "The Slytherins were at about two-hundred and ten. Initially, I had almost felt guilty for doing that, but when I was transfigured back, I realized how cathartic kicking Greengrass in the face had been."

"I'm just surprised you didn't massacre Rosier," Terry mentioned.

"Eh, maybe I just inherently knew it would be a more amusing game if I didn't completely kill the team's defense," Dorcas decided, replaying that game in all its horrific glory. "After all, you need to have a keeper for at least practice's sake."

"As amusing as this conversation is, why don't we go search the kitchen now?" Sirius suggested, trying to make sure Dorcas wouldn't stay on the current topic just in case they did need her to be a mature adult. Of course, she could act crazy if she so wished, but if any sort of finesse was needed, it might be a good thing to have her in Auror-mode.

Dorcas glanced at both of the brothers and shrugged. Quite calmly, she asked, "So, which way are we going in? The let's sneak into the kitchens way or the I'm a responsible adult and thus use the door way?" Terry raised an eyebrow. There was an actual entrance to the kitchens?

"You know about the real entrance?" Sirius asked, surprised. "I didn't find out about it until this year." Terry felt less stupid for not knowing about this other entrance. After all, if his brother hadn't known about it for years, then it must have been a well-guarded secret.

"Yes, well, they always gave me detention in the kitchens. I don't know why. I think it was because Slughorn was afraid I'd explode something, and everyone else knew I would find a way to wreak some sort of havoc elsewhere. Thus, kitchens," Dorcas explained, having decided that they were using the real entrance instead of the secret one and leading the way. Again.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sirius asked, obviously feeling a bit left out.

"Because I had sworn upon pain of bad things that I would not reveal it to anyone," Dorcas explained nonchalantly. "Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, and Binns all thought it unwise for me to share the information with the four of you. They might have had the right idea."

"Why do I suddenly remember the time we were all slipped the potion that revealed our animagus forms?" Sirius said, obviously wishing he hadn't thought of that incident. Terry was still particularly proud of having pulled that off. Of course, convincing the house elves hadn't been too hard. House elves automatically liked him for some reason.

"Remus was a seahorse," Dorcas snorted, starting to laugh uncontrollably. "And you put him in a glass of spiked pumpkin juice. He was so pissed off at you when the potion wore off!"

Sirius grinned and admitted, "We did tease him incessantly after that. God, we were immature. 'Course Lily had been terrifying, which was why the three of us had hid under the table with Remus in the cup. That had not been a fun experience, especially since we were hiding under a table occupied by a temperamental she-tiger. The Great Hall had looked like a zoo."

"Don't forget when Snape flew into that pillar and just clung there until he changed back," Dorcas reminded them. Severus had turned into a very displeased fruit bat and therefore was immediately overwhelmed by the bright lights and deafening noise. "Good times."

"As amusing as all this reminiscing is, shouldn't we, you know, continue what we were doing?" Terry began, trying to get them off this topic, lest Sirius remember that his younger brother had been, in Sirius's own words, "an overgrown house cat." Having got their attention, he asked, "So, I was wondering, but what happens if this guy runs?"

"I catch him," Dorcas replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sirius looked vaguely apologetic but seemed to be agreeing with Dorcas.

"Great," Terry muttered ever-sufferingly as Dorcas opened the door to the kitchens.

Terry swore very creatively in disbelief, immediately feeling like hitting himself with something repeatedly. Dorcas stood there in what passed for shock with her, and Sirius immediately drew his wand, which Terry absentmindedly confiscated. It wasn't going to stop Sirius from what he planned, but at least he couldn't do anything irreversible or irrevocable.

The wall dweller was someone they knew, so they were again back to knowing nothing about the horcrux. Terry wondered for a moment as to why they were all frozen in place before remembering that three people in the room were supposed to be dead. That might explain things.

Looking thoroughly like a chipmunk, said third supposedly dead person was sitting on the floor, holding a sandwich, and staring at the others in horror. He ironically was not only the first to move but just continued to stare at them terrifiedly as he resumed eating the sandwich. On some levels, Regulus Black still didn't understand Barty Crouch, Jr.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Dorcas continues to be useful, and Sirius restrains himself from committing premeditated murder._


	40. Nowhere Man

Barty Crouch, Jr., knew he was an easily confused man, but this was far too surreal. Okay, so he had expected Black would find him at some point to try to kill him. He had genuinely expected this. Dorcas Meadowes, on the other hand, was… Barty internally groaned. He would have preferred never seeing her ever again. He had expected that Malfoy let her free at some point, but he had not expected her to show up in the Hogwarts kitchens.

Yes, Barty was going to ignore the fact that the man he had counted as his best friend was standing next to Meadowes in shock, but seeing as Meadowes and Black were ignoring Reg, then maybe Barty was seeing things. Barty almost considered it odd that he would prefer to be seeing things, but when had he ever been normal?

The silence was actually starting to be kind of awkward.

Okay, so why hadn't Black killed him yet? Black was always making death threats towards him, and Barty was confused as to why Black hadn't snapped. Then again, Black also should have stepped between Barty and Reg, so maybe that other man wasn't Reg, and Barty's mind was playing tricks on him again. Bellatrix had, after all, been covered in a disturbing amount of blood when she proudly announced to the Dark Lord she'd murdered her cousin.

Meadowes… No, he wasn't even going to think about her. She was—yeah, no.

It seemed that no one was going to start talking anytime soon, so Meadowes took it upon herself to spout nonsense, "Er, am I missing something? Why's there a Death Eater in the Hogwarts kitchens?" After a moment, she acknowledged Not-Reg's existence and said, "Well, a second Death Eater. No offense." As way of reply, Not-Reg made the "I am disturbed and mortified beyond belief; kill me now" noise.

Barty started to doubt the intelligence of staying where he was. When Black resumed normal operations, there was going to be pain and lots of it. However, Barty was confused by the fact that Black appeared to be just as shocked as the rest of them. "I thought they gave him the Dementor's Kiss?" Black said, refusing to address Barty. That was typical, and thus Barty ignored it. A little normalcy was a good thing, expect he would have probably preferred that Moody be the one that found him. At least the Aurors would be quick. Black would not.

Not-Reg made another slightly terrified noise.

Deciding that maybe he should explain himself before Black and Meadowes decided how to kill him, Barty interjected, "Well, I kind of escaped into the castle's secret passage system. They locked me in the Ancient Runes classroom."

Black turned to glare at him. Barty squeaked and tried not to think of bad, horrible, terrible things his best friend's brother would enthusiastically do to him with kitchen implements. Alas: Mr. Black in the kitchen with the knife. (At least it wasn't the wrench.)

"Again: Why is there a Death Eater in the Hogwarts kitchens?" Meadowes demanded.

"I was hungry?" Barty replied, hoping that Meadowes might intervene were Black actually to attack him with a knife or just attack him. Then again, Barty and Meadowes didn't really get along for various reasons. Oh, this entire situation was awkward as all hell.

"Oh, okay. That's good enough for me," Meadowes replied, now horrifyingly chipper. Barty realized he wasn't the only one who felt that the situation was possibly tenser than a stare-down between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Meadowes generally liked defusing situations, if Barty remembered correctly. Actually, he was quite sure that she had put an end to a number of fights between the Slytherins and Gryffindors when they were all still in school.

Black turned to stare at Meadowes in disbelief and demanded, "Are you fucking insane?"

Meadowes returned the glare before angrily demanding, "Who is this Insane that I am supposed to be fucking?" She may have looked thoroughly indignant, but that particular question was definitely meant to try and break the ice. Barty didn't think it was going to work.

Black blinked and stared at Meadowes for a moment before slowly covering his eyes with his hand and sighing. Barty wasn't so sure that was a good thing. It might indicate that this was the calm before the storm. Unfortunately, there wasn't much anything to hide behind. "I do not know, Dorcas," Black replied tiredly. "And, Crouch, what the fuck?"

"Please don't kill me?" Barty essayed, grinning nervously. When Black seemed to start to be completely pissed off again, Barty continued nervously, "Okay, well, so I couldn't go back to the Death Eaters, 'cause obviously I kind of fucked up, but I suppose you would have been expecting that, Black, but I sure as hell wasn't. In any case, I kind of didn't want to die thanks to a dementor, because, quite frankly, ew, who wants to kiss a dementor? I couldn't really get away, 'cause Voldemort's going to kill me if he finds me again, and, hey, I was already in Hogwarts, and it's pretty warm here, and food's readily accessible, so I figured, 'Hey, why not stay? If I stick to the tunnels, no one will notice.' Unfortunately, sometimes the tunnels are finicky and dropped me off in weird places. Then, of course, I got pretty fucking bored, so I was hanging around the library for a while, and that's where I just was, but then I got hungry so I came here, and please, please, please don't turn me over to the Aurors or the Death Eaters. I'm too young to die, and I just want to be left alone, so please don't kill me?"

By now, Black was staring at him dispassionately. He sighed and turned to Meadowes and Not-Reg. Probably regretting the question, Black asked them, "What do you think?"

Meadowes pondered said question for a moment before sticking her arm out with her thumb parallel to the floor, like some demented Roman emperor, before taking pity on Barty and tilting her thumb down. "He's a creeper, but I suppose we could find a use for him," she explained. Barty didn't particularly like the sound of that.

Apparently Not-Reg didn't, either, and was staring at Meadowes like she was a freak of nature. "I'm not quite sure I want to know what you mean," Not-Reg said, sounding a touch horrified. Barty decided at that point that Not-Reg couldn't be Reg. Firstly, Reg would have blushed scarlet because his mind tended to go places he didn't want it to. Secondly, Reg's voice wasn't quite so husky. Not that, you know, Barty normally noticed these things. Thirdly, Not-Reg hadn't overreacted enough. That, and Black seemed to be mostly ignoring Not-Reg.

However, Black and Meadowes were waiting for Not-Reg to decide one way or another. Barty wondered why before realizing that Not-Reg was the deciding vote. Well, good thing this man wasn't Reg. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, after all. "Oh, you're waiting for me," Not-Reg realized, slightly embarrassed. "I…" He glanced at Barty and then back at Meadowes and Black, looking thoroughly torn. Wait a second. Meadowes had mentioned that this guy was a Death Eater? Something odd was going on, and Barty realized he had to get to the bottom of it. Otherwise, it was just going to drive him crazy. Not-Reg grimaced and stared down at the floor. Timidly, he said, "I don't think we should turn him in."

"I thought you wouldn't," Black said, sounding slightly irritated. He sighed and said, "I guess you get another lease on life, Crouch. Oh, and before I forget, please stop scaring the first-years. After a while, the prefects will start complaining to all the professors, who will eventually find you and turn you in to the Ministry."

Now Barty was confused and asked, "Wait, I scare first years?"

"Yes," Black replied stonily, glaring at Barty.

"We can't just leave him here, Sirius," Not-Reg mentioned quietly, sensibly.

Barty was starting to like that man. It didn't only have to do with the fact that he seemed to be the only one that was taking anything resembling Barty's side. (And the other reasons weren't only tied up in the fact that the man reminded him of Reg.)

Black set his jaw and seemed to be thinking. Not-Reg didn't show any sign of backing down, and Black finally demanded, "What do you suggest, then? We take him with us?"

Not-Reg shrugged and replied, a little conflicted, "I don't know. Maybe?" He actually seemed truly torn about the decision. Barty hadn't really put his two pence into the conversation, but he hadn't been lying when he said that his best-case scenario was leaving him alone. Not-Reg continued, "Look, we can't leave him here. We agree on that, right? I know we—one of us would have to harbor a fugitive, but we can't just let him have free rein."

"He could crash at your place," Meadowes suggested. Not-Reg froze, and Barty was again very, very glad that Not-Reg wasn't Reg. Otherwise… Well, Barty didn't want to think about it. "Why is everybody staring at me? I just meant that, you know, since Terry's been living with his wife again, the flat's unoccupied," Meadowes explained. Okay, that was good news. Meadowes had just said that Not-Reg was indeed not Reg and was instead named Terry. Good.

Black frowned and asked Terry (he didn't particularly look like a Terry, though), "What's the verdict? It's your decision. You're the one that's supposed to be running the show."

Terry paused for a moment before deciding, "He's coming with us."

Black did not seem pleased. To tell the truth, Barty was not, either. He didn't want to live with some random stranger (even if he did look like Reg), and he certainly didn't want to get caught up in whatever these three lunatics were up to. What were they up to, anyway? Barty wasn't going to ask Black, because he seemed rather frustrated, and Black didn't like Barty in the first place except as a punching bag. Glaring at Barty, Black demanded, "If you were hiding something in Hogwarts, where would you hide it?"

Barty did not approve of being put on the spot like this, but he suggested hesitantly nonetheless, "The Room of Requirement? It has a lot of random shit in it, like some poor sap's homework from the twenties, some pot I always supposed belonged to you and Potter, a mountain of socks that don't match, and that really ancient-looking tiara."

Black looked very upset for a moment before walking over to a wall and hitting himself repeatedly. Meadowes looked like the cat that ate the canary, and Terry started laughing in that nervous kind of hysterical way. Barty was, regardless, rather confused. Meadowes explained with a shit-eating grin, "We've been looking for the pot." Black stopped slamming his head against the wall and looked at Meadowes in disbelief. "I suppose we've been looking for the diadem, too," Meadowes admitted, thoroughly amused by Black's reaction.

There had been a reason Barty had gone drinking with her that one time. She _was_ funny.

Wait. Diadem? Barty sat there for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell she was referring to. _Wait_. Standing up, Barty stared at the three of them as he exclaimed, "You were looking for Ravenclaw's bloody diadem? In Hogwarts? Wouldn't someone have found it?"

"That's why it was hidden here," Terry mentioned with a sigh.

"Excellent," Meadowes said before turning to Terry. "We—as in Sirius and I—are going to go get the accursed horcrux thinger. You explain to Barty what is going on. This way, Sirius doesn't kill Barty, and I get to go play in the Room of Requirement. Everyone's happy."

"I'm not," Black mentioned, but Meadowes ignored him and dragged him out of the kitchen, leaving Barty alone with Terry, who did not seem pleased that he had been abandoned.

"So," Barty said, if only to keep this from becoming overwhelmingly awkward instead of just mostly awkward. He should probably officially introduce himself. However, Terry had collapsed onto the floor and was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. He really didn't seem to be too happy. "Obviously God hates me," Terry murmured.

Okay, Barty was missing something, and he was missing something important. As he continued to think about what he might have missed, Terry looked up and demanded bitterly, "Aren't you going to say anything?" Oh, fuck. Obviously, Black was an idiot, and Meadowes was playing along. And Barty was stuck in a room alone with Reg.

Well, it could be worse. A lot worse. Could be better, too. Reg was still waiting for a reply, though, so Barty asked, "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry I didn't step in and get us both killed? Yeah, that would have helped. Honestly, there's nothing to say."

"You could apologize for completely shutting me out for two months," Reg muttered.

Barty cursed himself for almost forgetting the melodrama that went with being Reg's friend. "Right, and do you remember why?" Barty demanded. "Also, that's a bit hypocritical coming from you. 'Course your bloody brother could do no wrong. Remember when he didn't acknowledge your existence for half a year? You made up excuses for him! Then when I fuck up, it's always my bloody fault! It's not fair. And you wonder why people walk all over you."

"I don't let people walk all over me!" Reg shouted at him. Barty just watched as Reg stood up and paced. He was probably going to have to wait out Reg's anger. "You think I wanted it? I wanted to get a brand on my arm? That I wanted Bella to do all that shit to me?"

"No, but you could have stopped her," Barty argued. It was true, after all.

"How, huh? By killing people? Innocent people, Barty! How could you? How could you do any of that?" Reg demanded, starting to sound slightly frantic. Barty wondered when Reg had last shouted at someone like this. Judging by how Black was behaving, it was probably recently, which meant that Reg was really not in a good place right now.

"It beat dying, Reg," Barty replied. He wasn't going to make excuses for himself. Yes, he was a right bastard, and he had done unspeakable things. He did indeed deserve Black's ire, but he didn't deserve Reg's. Barty had done what he could in those last days. He couldn't save Reg, but he had tried to make what had happened a bit more bearable.

"Fuck you," Reg snapped painfully before sinking to the floor and curling up in a corner of the room. Barty knew he should probably be more patient with Reg, but right now he didn't particularly have that luxury. With a sigh, Barty crossed the room and sat down next to Reg, who it seemed was not going to talk to him. Lovely.

"Reg, I am sorry, you know, for ignoring you," Barty admitted quietly. He glanced at Reg, but his friend seemed adamant in his decision to stonewall him. "We should have talked; I know that. However, I just didn't know what to do. I mean, have you ever realized how bloody hard you are to talk to?" Meadowes probably would have found this perversely amusing.

Reg refused to look at him, and Barty thought that he wasn't going to speak until Reg's shoulders sagged and he looked down at the floor despondently. Reg softly asked, sounding hurt and lost, "Why did you stop talking to me?"

Oh, God. He didn't remember. Well, they had been very drunk. Still. Then again, Reg was the cheapest drunk on the planet, so maybe he had been only barely conscious at the time. Grimacing, Barty decided to give Reg the very heavily abridged version and explained, "I was just having some problems, okay? I didn't want you to get involved. When we were at the bar, we both ended up getting completely blitzed, and some shit happened that made me realize that you would be better off if I stayed the hell away from you."

"Barty, what the hell gave you the right to decide what was best for me?" Reg demanded, starting to sound a little less pissed off at Barty than he had been but still pretty damn upset.

"Reg, I thought you'd never forgive me. You were really pissed off that night, and I just thought there might be more time, you know?" Barty said, trying to not mention the any part of the underlying reason. Maybe Reg had forgotten that, too? Was that too much to ask?

Reg sighed and said wretchedly, "It really hurt, Barty, when you stopped talking to me. You were my best friend. My bloody best friend, and you just kicked me to the curb because of some drunken argument." It was a bit more than an argument, but Barty was not going to correct him. "You didn't even let me say goodbye, before I… I stood outside your flat for two hours. Two bloody hours! You didn't even tell me to bugger off; you just let me stand there in the rain."

Good news! Reg didn't remember shit! Oh, maybe it was a good thing Barty had let him get so drunk. "I'm sorry, Reg. I really am," Barty said, wishing his friend continued to have amnesia. Wouldn't do for Reg suddenly to remember that Barty had practically had to carry Reg back to his flat or that when they arrived something had happened that they had both regretted.

"Even if I forgive you for that, I can't forgive you for what you've done for Voldemort," Reg murmured. Barty had been expecting that. He knew that Reg had never really approved of anything that had been going on. Yes, Barty had gone along with it, but he honestly had only joined the Death Eaters to get back at his father, the bastard. Reg wasn't the only Death Eater who had been horrified by the kinds of things that Bellatrix had been able to commit. Sometimes Barty still wondered what had possessed him to go off with her and the Lestrange brothers. If he hadn't gone, he could have got off scot-free. Karakoff might have tried to denounce him, but Barty could have weaseled his way out of it. After all, his father hadn't truly thought he'd sunk that far until he had been arrested.

"It's my fault Voldemort's alive, isn't it?" Barty muttered, angry with himself. It was his bloody father's fault that he was slightly cracked. He'd been kept under the Imperius for over a decade. A decade! He willingly wouldn't have left after a couple years. Hell, even that one time he had escaped and had a couple drinks with Meadowes, he had always meant to go back home. He had hated it, but he had known it was futile to resist. When he finally was able to make his own decisions again, Barty had just snapped. He wasn't proud of what he'd done, but he had needed time to remember why he had doubted serving Voldemort. That, and after he'd killed his father, there was no reason for him to remain a Death Eater. No reason at all.

"No," Reg replied darkly. "It's his fault he's still alive. It's your fault he has a body."

Okay, now Barty was starting to be freaked out. Yes, he knew Reg had always had an inclination towards the Dark Arts. Any idiot could have seen that. Fuck, Black noticed (which was indeed surprising, seeing as Black neglected to notice he himself was a walking Dark Arts encyclopedia). "What do you mean, Reg? Does this have something to do with why Meadowes was so excited about the Room of Requirement?" he asked slowly, as if that would make Reg more inclined to answer the question. "What—what's going on?"

Reg looked down at the floor again and started to explain, "Voldemort's immortal. Remember how I used to talk to you about that one fantasy book? With the ring?" Barty nodded, still trying to process the first statement, which was utterly horrifying, just to let everyone know. "Voldemort made a couple of things like that ring. We don't have to throw them into a volcano. In fact, we don't know if that would cut it, but we need to destroy them in order to kill him."

"Reg, that's suicide!" Barty exclaimed, staring at his friend worriedly.

"You do know the only reason Sirius agreed to bring you along is for cannon fodder, right?" Reg mentioned, possibly trying to make a joke. Barty could never tell, especially not now. He knew his friend most likely still hated conflict, but he might not try to end the argument. Apparently it was a joke (but Barty knew it was also true), because Reg smiled a little. The light faded from his eyes after a moment, though, and Reg continued seriously, "Look, Barty, I don't want to see you dead or in Azkaban, but you have to do something to keep yourself out of there. I can't guarantee anything, but you help us with this, the Ministry might pardon you for some of the crimes you've committed. What do you say?"

Barty was tempted by the idea, but he wasn't sure if it was enough. He could change his name and move to another country, but then he would have to get a job, and that might be difficult. Glancing at Reg, Barty realized he had been screwed since the moment the three amigos had walked into the kitchen. He'd never been able to say no to Reg, and there was no way Barty could turn him down now, not when he looked that hopeful. "Yeah. Sure. I'll do it," Barty answered, partially regretting every word.

Reg smiled thankfully and hugged him. Barty idly noticed Reg still wore the same aftershave. After a moment, Reg backed off, embarrassed. "Thank you," he murmured.

"The Gryffindors getting to you?" Barty asked casually. The expression on Reg's face then as good as said yes, so Barty winced and continued, "Shit. Your brother isn't driving you that mad, is he? As far as I could tell, he's cooled out quite a bit."

The vaguely happy expression Reg had been wearing melted away, and he looked off to the side. Barty then remembered that the others had been calling him by a different name and promptly felt like an ass. He was about to apologize when Reg said, "Don't, Barty. It's fine. I've dug myself into this hole. I haven't told Sirius, so he still thinks I'm dead. I've been living under the name Terry White for the past fifteen years. The only people who know it's me are Sev, Cissy, and Dorcas." Reg continued more hesitantly, "Well, you remember Artemesia, right?"

"Yeah. She's the skirt your brother was chasing the entire time we were at Hogwarts, even if he didn't realize it himself," Barty replied, not quite understanding where this was going. Of course, he had to ask, "They have realized that by now, right? Please tell me they aren't that dim. I might just loose faith in humanity if they're that dense."

Unable to stop himself, Reg grinned at that and explained, "No, Barty. You don't have to worry. They aren't that clueless. No, Sirius was well aware of what was going on from sixth year onwards. 'Sia didn't quite realize anything until they'd been out of school for a year." He paused for a moment before resuming, "That wasn't the point, though. 'Sia knows, too. She just has known for a lot longer than anyone else."

Barty made a noncommittal noise. This line of reasoning was going somewhere. Wait. Hadn't Meadows mentioned a wife? Barty glanced quickly at Reg's hands. Yeah, there was the wedding ring. Deciding to just put Reg out of his misery, Barty said patiently, "I take it you're trying to find a way to tell me you're married?"

"Well, maybe," Reg replied, a fascinating shade of scarlet. He smiled a little and mentioned, "I don't deserve her. She's far too good for the likes of me."

Barty sighed and wondered who in the world had kept this idiot from falling into an interminable depression while the two of them had been estranged. "Reg, anyone would be lucky to have you. Fuck, you're all brave and noble and everything a Gryffindor is but still a Slytherin, and that always confused me. The point is, you are a good man and you try to do the right thing. That's what matters, right? 'Sides, if your brother independently decided you were a good person, you meet some batshit-insanely high standards, and that's laudable."

Reg continued to be a nice shade of red, but he murmured, "Thanks, Barty."

"No problem," he said, waving it off. With a grin he hoped didn't look insincere, Barty asked, "So, what's your wife like? Please tell me you didn't marry a distant cousin."

Reg rolled his eyes and said, "No. Remember that healer? The one with the brown hair?"

Barty did indeed remember her. Reg once walked into the side of an old police box because he was watching her and failing to pay attention to his surroundings. Some of Reg's healer friends had tried to convince him to ask her out, but Barty knew Reg better than they did. Hence why he hadn't been surprised that Reg refused to try to gain the courage to speak to her. Barty then asked, "You married her? We are talking about the same woman, right? Auburn hair, blue-green eyes, American accent? The woman that made you trip down a staircase?"

"Yeah," Reg replied, a dreamy look on his face. Barty didn't know how anyone could reminisce about tripping down a staircase, but apparently he shouldn't have put it past Reg. Of course, the reason it was a good memory might have had something to do with how said woman had noticed Reg's misstep and checked to see if he were all right. "God, I love her."

Barty listened as Reg told him a slightly abridged version of the past decade and a half, nodding where appropriate and commenting where he should. From it all, Barty drew an important conclusion: he had been right to step back and leave Reg alone. Otherwise, Barty might not have been sitting in the Hogwarts kitchens listening to his very much alive best friend wax poetic about the love of his life. And, honestly, that might have been enough.

* * *

Sirius was seriously considering finding the pot Crouch referred to and smoking it if that meant he'd cool off. However, Sirius knew better than that, meaning he had absolutely no clue where it might be in the bloody Room of bloody Requirement. Dorcas was having a ball searching through the detritus of a thousand years, having found an enchanted Slinky, among other treasures untold. Sirius rolled his eyes. They were never going to find anything!

Sirius looked at the shelf to his right. Hey, wait a second, was that his Kinks record? Remus had said that the record had gone missing, that he didn't know where it was. Sirius was having words with that bloody werewolf when he returned to Grimmauld. Oh, hey, there was the pot. Sirius could see why Crouch had thought James—at least—had been the one to hide this stuff. (The name Potter was scrawled across the jar. As was a second name, but Sirius couldn't read it.) It had to be at least fifty years old, though, so Sirius doubted the leaves were better for anything more than kindling. He returned the jar to the shelf, continuing to search the room.

"Sirius?" Dorcas called from across the room. She had discovered scuba equipment and a rather hideous maroon set of male dress robes. Sirius groaned, wondering how she managed to survive in the real world. Upon remembering that she didn't do that too well, Sirius realized Dorcas had continued, "So, what do you think about this new-fangled development?"

He was wondering if she was talking about the compact disc player she was holding until he realized she was referring to Crouch. "I don't want to talk about it," Sirius replied, starting to become angry again. "That bastard never could do right by my brother."

"Might want to explain that to him," Dorcas advised, happy to have found matching flippers. She put them on over her now mismatched knee socks.

Eyeing a particularly strange collection of hidden potions, Sirius asked, "What's the point?" He looked more closely at some of them and stepped back when he realized which potions they were. He thought they had destroyed all of the Purple Potion.

"True, true," Dorcas said in reply, looking over the spines of books that had been hidden away in the room. There were a surprising number of magazines, but most of them were devoid of any literary content. The majority of said magazines were devoted to photographs.

"Dorcas, please don't distract yourself by the years of back-issues of _Playboy_," Sirius requested absentmindedly. Where in the hell was that diadem? Crouch had said it was in here somewhere. "Speaking of distractions, Dorcas, have you seen anything shiny?"

"No. I have been wearing a tarnished circlet for the past half-hour, and it has been depressing me for some odd reason, but I have found nothing shiny," Dorcas reported diligently, still looking through the back-issues of _Playboy_.

Feeling like a total idiot, Sirius turned around and stalked towards Dorcas and examined what she was wearing. She was wearing Ravenclaw's fucking diadem. How in the bloody hell had either of them missed this? Well, considering Dorcas's current wardrobe choices, Sirius figured he might be excused, but Dorcas was the one who had put the diadem on her head. He chose to inform her of this and said, "Dorcas? You're wearing a piece of Voldemort's soul."

Dorcas looked up and her eyes widened. Her eye twitched, and she exclaimed quite loudly, "AH! SIRIUS, GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF!" After about half a minute, she was curled up in the fetal position on the floor, rocking back and forth.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took the diadem. It was a little heavier than he would have expected, but nonetheless seemed to be what they were looking for. He had the feeling that they needed to put the horcruxes somewhere so the three of them didn't sink into any sort of depression (but Crouch could). Sirius already felt kind of shitty. He considered going up to the Headmaster's office and destroying the thing with Gryffindor's sword, but he wasn't sure if Dumbledore was there. Also, this was kind of a cultural treasure they were going to destroy.

So, Sirius stood there contemplating what to do with the diadem and the utter hopelessness of the situation, and Dorcas rocked back and forth in the fetal position, although she seemed to recover pretty quickly and was soon enough peering at the crown, too. "Sirius, you all right?" she asked gently. Dorcas must have been worried, because she was glancing nervously at the amazing weapons collection in the far corner of the room.

Wincing, Sirius shook his head and said, feeling oddly tired, "Yeah, I'm fine. I think I'm going to sit down." He stepped back and leaned against one of the shelves, trying to stay awake. "I think we need to find a place to store the horcrux. I don't think we should let it lie around."

Dorcas seemed really concerned for some reason. "Sirius, give me the horcrux," she ordered, trying to stay as calm as possible. Sirius was more than happy to give it up, and Dorcas snatched it before setting it on the ground a good two meters away from them and sitting back down next to Sirius. "That thing's cursed," she said simply. Sirius nodded. He was well aware.

"Guess we should keep it at Grimmauld, then," Sirius joked. Apparently there was already one there, so what was another highly dangerous Dark item? Besides, the only people there were Order members and Kreacher. Sirius started to doubt the intelligence of the idea.

"I don't know, Sirius. I don't think it would fit the décor," Dorcas said, taking him seriously. They sat there for a moment, just staring at the horcrux, before Dorcas asked again, "So, were are we putting Barty? Can I stay in your flat? I don't want to live with Terry. His flat's boring and doesn't have cable or satellite. Plus, I know where you keep the alcohol."

Sirius groaned. He did not want to think about Crouch at all. White hadn't seemed too happy to see Barty, either, but that had only been after the initial shock had worn off. "I suppose he's going to be sleeping on White's couch, if White chooses to continue to distance himself from his family," Sirius reasoned. "If White stays with his wife at Artemesia's house, then Crouch'll probably get that flat to himself. I have a feeling it might be better for White to stay with his wife, not necessarily for her safety but for his mental health."

Dorcas nodded in understanding and agreement. "Yes, it might be intelligent for him to stay with Vesta. It seems like he has really bad nightmares about once a week," she explained, trying to fashion a sock monster out of fifteen mismatched socks. "I mean, he can still function, obviously, but he might be better off staying with her. I could check on him, but I couldn't do anything to help him." Grabbing another set of three socks to add to her creation, Dorcas mused, "Vesta's probably had a lot of practice calming him down, and he'd probably rather have her there with him instead of an old friend he hasn't seen for a decade and a half."

Sirius nodded. He still hadn't met White's wife, Vesta, but she sounded like a saint or damn near one. Sirius didn't want to think about how bad off White must have been initially, after whatever had happened. Bellatrix had probably done something horrible to him. She had a tendency to do that sort of thing to people. Sirius wondered what her fate would be after the war. Would she be sent back to Azkaban or executed? For everything she had done, Sirius did believe that she deserved to die, but she was still his cousin, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to carry out the sentence.

As Sirius was considering all sorts of morbid subjects, White and Crouch came into the room. Apparently White was feeling better without knowing that the creepy metal thing on the floor between them was the horcrux. Sirius was glad to know that he still scared the shit out of Crouch. The bastard should be. "Why does Dorcas look like an alien from _Star Trek_?" White asked, probably stuck on the fact that Dorcas's sock monster had become a hat.

"I don't know, White, nor do I really care," Sirius replied boredly. Gesturing at the horcrux, he continued, "Found the bloody diadem. Dorcas was wearing it for half an hour."

"I need to be cleansed," Dorcas agreed. Crouch was staring at her in horror, but he tended to do that frequently. Sirius had the feeling there was also a story behind all this behavior, but he would just ask Dorcas later. There was no way in hell he was asking Crouch.

"So, now what do we do?" Crouch asked. He obviously did not know how this completely half-assed plan worked yet. White probably hadn't explained everything right. Great. Wasn't he supposed to be the expert?

"Have we decided upon living situations, et cetera?" Dorcas inquired, tilting her head to the side. Sirius noticed she had used a fourth-century Roman gladius to fix the sock monster in her hair. He chose not to comment. This day was demented enough as it was. Sirius likewise made a mental note never to let Dorcas and Luna Lovegood in the same room.

White nodded and explained, "Well, on one hand, I give Barty the keys to my flat and keep living with Vesta at Artemesia's house. On the other hand, he could live at Grimmauld. I know you couldn't care less about what happens to him, but it is the location of the Order of the Phoenix." Dorcas and Barty looked confused, which White noticed a couple seconds after Sirius did. White cursed and said, "I forgot about that damn charm."

"It would be a good idea, save for the fact that Moody would kill one of them at the very least. Might not stop at them, either, White," Sirius pointed out. "It sounds like you had something else in mind, though. I don't want to know who came up with it, either."

"Another, highly crazy option was that we rent a house for these two and essentially wash our hands of them," White said, obviously not having informed Crouch of the idea. "Preferably in a Muggle neighborhood. I think it might work, but I'm perfectly fine with the other options."

"I like the latter idea," Dorcas said, grinning. Oh, yes, she was going to tell Sirius what she was hiding later. It obviously had something to do with Crouch, who looked absolutely shell-shocked. With a sugary voice, Dorcas continued, "Don't you, honey? We could pose as a newlywed Muggle couple." Crouch definitely looked scared to death by the idea.

Sirius very much liked the German language, because it gave him a word for the emotion he was feeling: schadenfreude. Addressing White, Sirius asked, "What are we going to do with the horcrux? Hide it at Grimmauld? As Dorcas informed me earlier, it would fit right in."

"Good idea," White replied seriously as Crouch ran from Dorcas, who had seen fit to chase him around the room, calling him all sorts of pet names. "We agreed that we weren't going to meet for about another month, right?" Sirius nodded, so White said, "Well, I need to do some more research, unfortunately, about the living horcruxes. Plus, there's that pesky cover I have to maintain. What do you think of meeting some time in early February? I'll owl you about the precise date, but I'd say expect sometime in the second week."

"All right. I'll pass it on to Dorcas," Sirius replied pensively. As Crouch and Dorcas flew past them, Sirius queried, "You weren't being serious about them posing as a Muggle couple in a Muggle neighborhood, were you? I mean, it's a completely valid idea, but…"

"Nah," White replied with a grin. "I was just getting Barty back for something."

"What, if I may ask?" Sirius inquired. For once, he had the ability to feel bad for Crouch, even if it were endlessly entertaining to watch Dorcas chase him through the room. Sirius didn't know where Dorcas had found the lights or when she had time to work them into her ensemble, but she now was flashing many colors.

"Barty is indirectly responsible for giving Voldemort his body back," White replied calmly, wondering how Dorcas could run so fast in the flippers.

"You have an odd sense of humor," Sirius said, meaning every word. Granted, he was the one with the friend who looked like something out of a Loony Toons short, but that was irrelevant. Of course, Sirius understood White's sense of humor. He wasn't sure which was more horrifying: Dorcas in her bizarre outfit or his ability to understand White.

"I think we might want to leave the room before we somehow break the Room of Requirement," White mentioned, himself starting to be morbidly fascinated with Crouch and Dorcas's antics. His gaze drifted to the horcrux. "Are you taking that to Grimmauld?"

Sirius nodded and explained, "I'm going to have Dorcas carry it, but yeah. It'll be there." He did not want to touch that thing again. Sirius could just tell there was something inherently _wrong_ about its existence. Dorcas wasn't as affected, so he hoped she wouldn't mind.

Both Sirius and White were silent for a moment before White asked, "So why do you think Barty's making an active effort to avoid Dorcas? I've been trying to figure it out, but the only thing I can think of makes no sense. There's no manner logic in it at all."

"I dunno. I'm asking Dorcas later," Sirius informed him. He stood there for a moment, thinking, before continuing, "Well, I suppose I should stop Dorcas. Not even Crouch deserves to be at her mercy." Sirius grimaced before asking, "You'll take care of yourself, right, Terry?"

White seemed surprised at Sirius's use of his first name and replied, "Yeah. I will. Vesta's already sworn to kill me if I don't." He smiled warmly and said, "Thanks for not turning Barty in. I know you hate him, but it means a lot, Sirius. He knows he's completely screwed up, but he wants to try and fix things. Second chances are a hero thing, right?"

Sirius nodded and looked off to the side. He wished that White hadn't asked to spare Crouch, but he honestly had not expected a different outcome. "Yeah, that's a hero thing," Sirius replied, feeling guilty. "Giving people second chances." That's why he wasn't a hero.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Sirius and Artemesia go on a date, and the Death Eaters meet to plot.  
_


	41. Rebel Yell

Despite the fact that Hogwarts had only been back in session for two weeks, Artemesia had decided that Friday that it would be a good idea to take a break and see Sirius. As neither of them had anything to do the next evening, he suggested that they go to dinner. Thus, there they were, in Diagon Alley, in some expensive posh restaurant Sirius hated. She supposed that he had picked that place because it was indeed a nice restaurant yet had forgotten that he had informed her many years ago that he despised it with a number of fibers of his being. She thought about chastising him for his decision but decided not to. Next time, though, she'd pick the location if only to keep him from making another, similar decision.

Artemesia hadn't meant for this to be a formal date, really. To be honest, she would have been fine just going to the Three Broomsticks. At least then she wouldn't have had to change. That said, she did like the view. Artemesia had forgotten how well Sirius cleaned up when he actually felt like paying particular attention to his appearance. She had expected him to cut his hair, too, but she hadn't expected him to go back to how he had worn it while he was in Auror training. Back then, he had cut his hair short for the express purpose of not making a bad impression on the interviewing committee. After he had been accepted and graduated the training, he had stopped giving a damn again, but by that point no one had expected any less.

She did have to admit, though, that he looked damn fine in a suit. Artemesia did remember him wearing that one on occasion, but this was the first time she had seen it not fit him properly. Yes, he was still a little thin, but she really didn't care. After all, she hadn't fallen for him because of what he looked like. Their long, apparently interminable courtship had been every bit as unorthodox as most of their friends had thought. They had bickered with each other every morning at about quarter past eight for seven years. She wasn't quite sure when he had fallen in love with her, though. She'd only given him a chance a year after they had graduated, and only after he had—instead of starting a bar fight—told Artemesia's then soon-to-be ex-boyfriend where he could go and in what condition. She and Sirius had left the club together, if only to prevent him from further losing his temper.

Although most would doubt it, Sirius had actually mellowed out over the years. Unfortunately, that also meant that he had stopped venting as much, a development of which Artemesia was less glad. He had decided to go see a psychiatrist, but she wasn't sure if he was actually going to say anything. Knowing him, he probably wasn't. He wouldn't talk about any of his problems to a stranger, especially not what would really be bothering him. Yes, whoever might be able to have him open up about Azkaban, but they would not understand why it had been so hard on Sirius unless he divulged the entire story. That required that he explain his childhood and that he explain what his teenage years had really been like for him. Artemesia doubted he would tell anyone the whole truth who didn't already know it. She envied Terry only for that, because, try as she may to drag the story out of him, Terry was not telling, either.

"I'm not so sure it was a smart idea dropping by like that," Sirius mentioned, absentmindedly staring at the glass of wine in his hand. Artemesia raised an eyebrow. Sirius explained, "At Christmas. I should have said something. White seemed a little distracted."

Artemesia smiled, having expected he would apologize for the visit again at some point in time. "Sirius, it was fine. I've told you already; I'm glad you dropped by," she reassured him. Judging it might be a good idea, she added, "And Terry was happy to see you."

A smile flickered across Sirius's face, before he asked hesitantly, "How is White doing? I haven't talked to him in the past couple of weeks, but he seemed distracted the last time." Artemesia wondered for a moment if Sirius had realized the truth but quickly dismissed the thought. Sirius wouldn't have kept referring to his brother as Terry if he knew otherwise. Especially if he knew otherwise, really. Artemesia was of the group that expected Sirius would have a spectacular reaction to the news. On the other hand, she was still be amazed at how completely predictable he could be. She had been wondering when he would ask about Terry.

"He's all right, I suppose. Vesta said he had been a little depressed for a while after the kids had gone back to school, but I imagine that was because the school term started again," Artemesia informed Sirius. To be honest, what had surprised her was that Terry had decided to continue staying at the house. She had expected him to return to the flat. It would do him good to stay with Vesta, though, and stop trying to distance himself from her for her own protection. Artemesia had always thought he was a bit of an idiot for trying to do that. She paused for a moment before asking, "When are you two meeting again?"

"Couple weeks," Sirius replied, sensibly not revealing much information. She hadn't expected him to, but she felt like she should have at least asked. With a grin, he asked, "So, how's work? Umbridge still driving you up a wall, or has the DA declared all-out war yet?"

Artemesia laughed and said with a grin, "War has indeed been declared. You're really missing some priceless scenes." Sirius grinned, too, probably remembering the pranks the Weasley twins had pulled before winter break. "Those twins and Jordan really should go into R&D for someone. The three of them are bloody devious."

Sirius shrugged and mentioned, "Well, the Weasley twins are trying to start a joke shop."

"I guess that means they'll beat the Marauder's record for most items banned by Filch, then. After all, they'll have hundreds of items that they invented to be misused by future Hogwarts students," Artemesia reminded him goodnaturedly.

After taking a sip of the wine, Sirius admitted, "Yes, they will, but the twins deserve to be venerated by said mischievous future Hogwarts students." He couldn't refrain from adding, "And we won't be completely forgotten, either. James and I still hold the record for most detentions. Snape can't really give the twins more than fifty detentions. Well, incidents that resulted in detention. That's how we always used to count them. Sometimes I thought I had another class, except that it was at odd hours of the day and usually involved cleaning things."

Artemesia shook her head. She remembered all of that very well. He was making fun of it now, but at some point, he had managed to give himself a nervous breakdown from the continuous detentions. She remembered some of their teachers, specifically Minerva, had decided to lighten the amount of detention he had to serve. Sixth year had been really hard on Sirius. "I'm sure Filch was depressed to no end when his most helpful assistants graduated. It must have been because you and James got on so well with him," Artemesia agreed.

"Yeah…" Sirius agreed with a sad smile on his face as he reminisced. He looked to the side before mentioning off-handedly, "Dr. MacGregor said I should talk about all of this shit more. To, you know, start to deal with what happened." He looked far graver than he normally did when talking about his problems, but Artemesia actually saw that as a good development.

"She did?" Artemesia asked, trying to match Sirius's tone when he brought up the topic. She couldn't scare him off the topic; otherwise, he might not keep talking. "I take it that the meetings have been constructive?" she continued, deciding not to ask about which incidents he was trying to work through. The doctor wasn't going to get anywhere if she didn't figure out what the original source of all the issues was, or what had precipitated Sirius's actions.

"They have. I'm only really talking about James and Lily, but I think the good doctor's realized I'm really not telling her anything," Sirius replied, slightly guilty. He sighed and continued, "It seems like the only reason she hasn't asked about the even more distant past yet is that I'm obviously not really comfortable talking about anything else."

"I figured as much," Artemesia commented. She hoped that the war would end before the doctor was able to get Sirius to open up about his brother. Otherwise, Sirius might end up realizing that he was unconsciously associating Terry with his brother (rightfully). Terry, of course, would be completely confused when Sirius admitted and essentially got over that, so when the war did end, Sirius would undoubtedly never speak to his younger brother again for the rest of either of their natural lives. "Are you planning on mentioning what happened in school?"

Sirius shook his head and said, "No, I'm not. There's no reason to drag Remus into this." After a short pause, he then continued, "I think I'll talk about what happened to Reg, though, and what happened to everyone else… I know I'm not alone in failing to come to terms with what happened in that last year of the war. I'm far too self-destructive to let this keep going, though."

Artemesia frowned and reassuringly squeezed one of his hands. "Thank you for going, Sirius, and for taking it seriously. I know you don't want to do this, but, I don't know, you might feel better in the long run," she said softly. He smiled sadly and nodded in reply.

Sirius seemed like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Artemesia wondered what he could have been thinking about, but he apparently decided to enlighten her and asked, " 'Sia, do you think I should have stayed teaching? I'm sure Snape's doing a good job, as much as I loathe to admit it, but… Hell, I don't know."

It was Artemesia's personal opinion that Sirius should have stayed at Hogwarts for the rest of the term (or, you know, as long as she taught there), but there was no way that she was going to tell him that. He was looking for reassurance that he had done the right thing. He had for a great number of reasons, but she still wasn't sure how it would have been a problem if he had gone off on the quest of the day with Terry and whoever else they were working with every so often. Yes, if he missed classes, Umbridge would have thrown a hissy fit, but Sirius and Terry could have planned around that. "Well, do you think that you could have managed to keep Umbridge in the dark and still managed to do whatever it is you and Terry are hell-bent on doing?" Artemesia asked finally, choosing her words carefully.

"No, I honestly don't," Sirius replied regretfully. "I wouldn't have had enough time to do everything, and Voldemort might get suspicious if it turned out he had noticed White's behavior, especially if he was directly associated with me and if I mysteriously disappeared off the radar at the same time White did. I don't doubt someone would have noticed."

"What's stopping everyone from noticing now?" Artemesia asked pointedly.

"Nothing, but we can be more random about it, because I'm not limited by a schedule," Sirius explained, sounding thoroughly miserable. Artemesia again thought that Sirius should have remained at Hogwarts if he missed it as much as he appeared to. Obviously wanting to get off subject, Sirius asked hesitantly, "How's Gemma?"

"She's fine," Artemesia replied, amused at how Sirius had yet to learn the fine art of subtlety. Honestly, though, Gemma was doing well. She had developed this odd interest in monitoring what her cousin was reading and who said cousin was friends with, but Artemesia was none too sure she wanted to discover the reason for her daughter's change in habits. Of course, the behavior was frighteningly familiar. "She's been watching her cousin, Macha, like a hawk lately. No one's too sure about the reason. Do you think you can shed some light on it?" Artemesia asked. "She's trying to keep Macha from reading some book Gemma insists is evil, and then Gemma disapproves of Macha's friends. Sound familiar?"

Sirius winced and looked chagrined for a moment. "Well, okay, so I was a little overprotective, but, c'mon, Reg did have the wrong friends," he protested before reasoning, "As to what I can remember, I think Gemma might be right about that book."

Artemesia grimaced. She wasn't particularly surprised. Gemma had been unwilling to divulge the title of the book, but Artemesia had the feeling that was because Gemma hadn't wanted to get Macha into trouble. That could only mean one thing. With a sigh, Artemesia asked, "It wasn't that stupid book about the war with Voldemort, was it? The one supposedly written by a Death Eater? It would make sense if it were. Terry really doesn't want her reading that."

"I think it was. Macha was talking to that blond Slytherin kid that follows her around like a lost puppy and said something along those lines. She might have mentioned that White didn't want her reading it, but I'm not completely sure," Sirius replied, trying to remember.

"Oh, I've seen that boy following her around," Artemesia recalled. She didn't see Macha or her friends much, seeing as Artemesia had neither her niece nor her nephew in class, although she did expect them to take Arithmancy. Vesta would be very displeased if they didn't. Terry didn't really seem to care, as long as the two didn't take Divination. Artemesia continued, a little terrified at the thought, "He reminds me of Dorcas Meadowes for some reason."

Likewise, Sirius seemed to have a very disturbing thought but decided to keep it to himself. Artemesia was glad that the child had no way of being Dorcas Meadowes', because the poor kid had the grace of Sirius's cousin's daughter, and any child belonging to Dorcas Meadowes would undoubtedly have the same luck as Dorcas. Except, where Dorcas had enjoyed running up and down the Hogwarts staircases day-in and day-out, said child would be very depressed as he fell down them. "Yes," Sirius replied carefully, "I was thinking of Dorcas, too."

Lies. Artemesia knew whom the child bore an unfortunate resemblance to, but she decided to let it slide. "In any case, if Gemma is talking about that one book, then Macha is in for a world of hurt when Terry finds out. He has warned her not to read that book repeatedly," she said.

"Why doesn't White want Macha reading it? I think I may have skimmed the book you're talking about in Flourish and Blotts when I went there over the summer, but it seemed to be pretty heavily edited," Sirius mentioned, probably wondering where the hell the bill was.

Artemesia grimaced and explained, "Terry read some of it once, and he didn't like what he found. Macha's always been interested in the war, and I think you've noticed that Terry just wants to forget it, so he's tried to discourage her for years. Macha doesn't listen, though."

"I'd noticed," Sirius replied. Artemesia could only speculate as to what nonsense Macha had managed to instigate in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. After a pause, Sirius continued, "Well, I think I might know why Gemma disapproves of Macha's friend. If I remember what teenage dynamics are like, she doesn't want her little cousin being corrupted by the nasty boy."

Artemesia snorted and admitted, "Well, at least we're in agreement there." With a sigh, she continued, "I don't know how that girl turned out so much like you. I really don't."

"Well, 'Sia, it confuses me as well," Sirius mentioned. Having reached the limits of his patience, he flagged down their waiter and asked for the bill. The waiter, suitably terrified by the possibility that Sirius Black was displeased and thus unlikely to leave a tip, rushed off to do just that. "I mean, isn't behavior learned? I didn't think it was genetic. Mental instability, I know is genetic, but I didn't think that sort of thing was," Sirius mused.

Artemesia grinned at that and asked, "You are going to leave that poor waiter a tip, right?" Since Sirius seemed to be waffling, Artemesia threatened, "If you don't, I will."

He raised an eyebrow and mentioned, " 'Sia, of course I am. I would have just given him a fifteen percent tip instead of a twenty percent one. Waiting always was dreadfully annoying. I only worked at that coffee shop for two summers, and I enjoyed it, but some people were so…"

"I remember vividly. Didn't Remus start working there because he hung out there so frequently in order to badger you?" Artemesia remembered, giggling.

Obviously embarrassed by the reminder, Sirius sighed and admitted, "Yes…" Artemesia had neglected to mention that he had also had a crush on the owner of the café, but that was irrelevant. Also, it would start Sirius again wondering why said owner had named the café after her cat, and Artemesia did not want to experience that conversation again. "Remus also ended up dragging everyone else there so I'd have to wait on them. He had even managed to find Reg, who eventually dragged his sorry ass there half an hour late."

Artemesia smiled at that as the waiter came back. Sirius paid the bill, and Artemesia started wondering what they were going to do now. It wasn't like they could go back to her house; after all, her idiot brother-in-law was traumatized enough. Although, it would be hilarious to have Diana complain loudly about the noises in the morning. She'd totally think it was Vesta and Terry, too. Terry would get so baffled. Of course, tired Diana plus predictably disheveled Black brothers equaled Diana having trouble differentiating the two, which would lead to dueling Black brothers. That was assuming, of course, that Sirius would want to continue the date. Artemesia was not too sure about his opinion on the matter. He wasn't being very clear.

In the end, they apparated back to Artemesia's house, and Sirius simply kissed her goodnight before he left. As she stood in the doorway, she wondered what had gone wrong.

* * *

Terry wondered how he always seemed to manage to get into these situations, especially with the care he took to avoid them. Unfortunately, he had not made any friends among the Death Eaters in the past couple of times he had attended meetings. At least he hadn't been beaten since late November, but Terry wasn't so sure that was good. Because he wasn't exactly the model of perfect behavior, the other Death Eaters were watching him like hawks. Bellatrix, on the other hand, was just watching him.

Terry tried to ignore Bellatrix and focus on what the Dark Lord was talking about. There was a plan to break into the Department of Mysteries, just like the Order thought. Unfortunately, because of the nature of the game, the Death Eaters knew that the Order knew, but the Order didn't know that the Death Eaters knew. If anyone (like, say, Terry or Severus) tried to warn the Order, then there would be pain and lots of it. Most of the Death Eaters didn't expect Terry to act out again for a long time, and he was perfectly content in doing so. After all, running after priceless artifacts corrupted for the use of housing Voldemort's soul was rebellious enough. Since no one knew about that little quest, then they had no reason to suspect he was up to anything. Voldemort hadn't exactly told any of them that the horcruxes existed. Yes, the man had occasionally bragged about his immortality, but Voldemort had not been direct enough that those that had all of the information would easily figure out what was going on.

As the meeting continued, Terry noticed that Pettigrew seemed to be a little conflicted. That figured. He should be. Terry still wondered why Pettigrew had escaped from Azkaban with the rest of them. Voldemort incessantly called Pettigrew worthless behind the back of the rat animagus, and when the war ended, Pettigrew probably would have been able to hold on to his worthless life had he stayed in Azkaban. Alas, he had not. Terry wondered if the Aurors would get to Pettigrew before Sirius or Lupin. He wouldn't lay any bets on it.

Rookwood was going over the layout of the Department of Mysteries, and Terry wondered why entire sections of the department were missing until he realized that Rookwood had left out all of the offices for convenience's sake. Also, the records room was gone, along with the massive library. They were focusing on the Room of Prophecy, after all.

Terry didn't particularly know why everyone was so obsessed about prophesizing, anyway. Divination was a load of bull. If you tried to prevent a prophecy from occurring, it would. Hence the term "self-fulfilling prophecy." It was Terry's opinion that most of the prophecies were that kind. The other, more chilling ones, he didn't particularly like to think on. Granted, once a prophecy was believed, it did become important, which was unfortunately why they were going to raid the Department of Mysteries. Glancing at the map again, Terry made a note of where the Death Room was. He did not want to find himself caught there.

"White, what do you think of the news that the hell-bitch Meadowes might be again on the loose?" Bellatrix asked slyly, taking Terry off guard. When had they changed the subject? It was apparent that they had changed the subject, because everyone was staring at him. Maybe there hadn't been a segue? He thought he'd been listening. However, it was none too reassuring that Bellatrix was asking the question in the first place. How could they have found out that Terry had been in contact with Dorcas? Maybe they just thought he was?

Terry could only manage to reply, "It's not good. Her continued existence represents a major threat to us." He hoped that was enough to make sure they considered him an ally on this. If they knew he had been sheltering Dorcas for a couple weeks, then Terry was going to be spending some more time in the antiseptic halls of St. Mungo's.

Rudolphus narrowed his eyes and murmured dangerously, "Don't you think, Rabastan, that White here is a terrible liar?" Terry tried to remain calm. Just because Rudolphus and Rabastan were teaming up to try to have Terry contradict himself did not mean all of the Death Eaters thought he had been in contact with Dorcas.

"Yes, brother, I would say he is," Rabastan replied, looking completely insane.

Lucius was staring at Terry coldly in disgust. Terry had not expected anything less from Lucius, because he had been there when Dorcas was broken out. Sirius was the one that actually broke Dorcas out, though. At the time, Terry had been upstairs, crying on Narcissa's shoulder. "So you deny that you were aware she was in custody of the Order of the Phoenix?" Lucius demanded icily. "Narcissa said that you had left by the time Meadowes was freed. She said she did not see who was there, but my wife has always had a soft spot for fools. That said, Bellatrix identified Black as the one who freed Meadowes, but there's always room for an accomplice."

Terry was slightly confused but took care not to show it. Lucius had just given him enough information to make something up. Of course, in the manner he usually did, Lucius had as good as said Narcissa had ordered him to give Terry a chance. "A soft spot for fools," indeed. Sounding concerned, Terry said, "I was unaware that Meadowes was being held at Malfoy Manor or that anything had happened to Narcissa. For that matter, what happened? Is she all right?" Deciding it might be a good idea to continue, Terry demanded, "What did Black do?" He could apologize to Sirius for implying he might have taken advantage of Narcissa later.

"Oh, nothing. Just a stunner," Bellatrix replied disgustedly. "Dear cousin Sirius thinks himself better than the rest of us." She grinned horrifyingly and continued nonchalantly, "But you already knew that, didn't you, White? Haven't been very careful lately."

Terry was now thankful for the fact they had made him join the Order. Now he could use it as an excuse for knowing Sirius without accidentally admitting one of the real reasons. Terry was not going to chance dragging anyone else into this mess. "Well, Madame Lestrange, I am in the Order of the Phoenix. Out of all of the blood traitors, who do you think is the least abhorrent to talk to? Moody's mad, Lupin's flea-infested, and I don't think I need to say anything about the Weasleys. It would be beyond suspicious if the only people I talked to directly were Dumbledore or Severus," Terry snapped. "Besides, in case you've forgotten, Black is Potter's legal guardian. If I'm up to his standards of paranoia, the rest of the Order will probably ignore me. Also, it might be useful to have an easy way to strike at Potter, wouldn't it?"

Severus hadn't reacted much, but Terry could tell he again thought Terry was out of his mind. Well, Terry had just offered to commit fratricide, and that task had been what had landed him where he was in the first place. Oddly enough, Pettigrew, too, looked stunned at Terry's declaration, but he was a bit more obvious about it. What scared Terry was the almost triumphant grin on Bellatrix's face as she leered at him. "Oh, White you amuse me so. Tell me, how is your darling mudblood wife? I heard she hasn't quite recovered from her slight injury yet."

"You stay the fuck away from her!" Terry shouted, standing. He didn't care that the other Death Eaters were staring at him like he was mad, or that Voldemort was impassively watching the scene develop. Bellatrix had crossed a line. She had crossed many lines, but he was not going to stand for her threatening Vesta. "If you touch her again, I swear to God I'll kill you."

"Temper, temper, White," Bellatrix mentioned offhandedly, examining her fingernails. "That's no way to speak to your betters. After all, even if you were a pureblood, knowing that woman as you have makes you just as unclean as she is. Of course, what else was I expecting out of a man who associates with blood-traitors like my Merlin-forsaken cousin?"

Terry restrained himself from defending his brother and reseated himself, refusing to take the bait. He didn't have to look at Bellatrix if he didn't want to, so he settled for glaring at Pettigrew, who didn't look terrified enough. After a couple seconds, Terry started wondering if the others were expecting him to at least say something, but Severus thankfully spoke up. "Bellatrix, I know you would be loathe to refrain from antagonizing White, but isn't it a little petty to draw four hundred-year old feuds into this?" Severus asked tonelessly. "Black trusts him, and we all know how easy it is to slip a knife in his back when he trusts a traitor." Severus sent a meaningful glance Pettigrew's way. "Black won't expect it."

Lucius glared at Terry and admitted contemptuously, "Severus has a point. White has his uses, and Black is an unquestioning fool. If he was stupid enough to trust Pettigrew, then I have no doubt that he would make the same mistake with White."

Bellatrix continued to glare at Lucius as the rest of the Death Eaters started arguing. Terry started hoping that they'd start another huge argument about ethics (or lack thereof), but he wasn't too hopeful. It did seem like Terry might get away with only a slap on the wrist. After about a half an hour of arguing, for most of which Terry remained silent, Voldemort declared, "Silence!" Everyone did as he said, but Terry flinched when Bellatrix glared at him specifically.

When Voldemort was sure that he had the attention of all of them, he said darkly, "This petty quarrel is useless. White has a mildly intelligent idea, so he will follow it." Terry relaxed slightly. Unfortunately, Voldemort then continued, "However, Rudolphus, you make a good point. White is lying." Terry could feel the blood draining from his face. He had managed to not make waves for two months. Two months! Why couldn't he have just stayed silent? "He knows where Meadowes is." Terry froze. He prayed that the reason Voldemort knew was that he hadn't been subtle enough or that someone else had told the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, Terry did not much put it past himself to be completely unaware that his Occlumency was not working.

Terry managed to glance over at Bellatrix, because he knew that she, at least, could not do Legillimancy. He realized he should not have looked at her, because she seemed to be excited for what Voldemort would undoubtedly charge her with. Terry lowered his gaze down to the table and waited for Voldemort to continue, knowing that at least they had no intention of killing him. "Therefore, White will monitor the actions of both Black and Meadowes, and when the time is right, he will betray or execute them," Voldemort pronounced. Terry tensed, waiting for Voldemort to continue. The Dark Lord was going to continue, and Terry was going to be in pain, probably excruciating pain, for at least the next couple of hours. Not to mention the lovely company he would be keeping.

Contrary to what Terry had been expecting, Voldemort ordered Lucius and Rookwood to continue the discussion they had been leading about the Department of Mysteries. After another twenty minutes, Terry let himself relax. Was he hallucinating, or had he just been let off? No, he hadn't. This was just a short reprieve. He had contradicted at least two of the Inner Circle; even if he were privy to most of the meetings, he was by no means one of them. Bellatrix had been telling the truth in that respect. Any time he spoke out, he could be facing some sort of thrashing. After all, they did believe him to be a half-blood. As Terry's feelings of dread coalesced and the meeting continued, Bellatrix seemed to be more and more cheerful. He did not want to know what she was thinking, not in the slightest.

Finally, the meeting concluded. Terry made sure he left sometime in the middle of the chaos. The action would not really keep him from facing Bellatrix, but it gave him a little hope. In the grand hall outside the antechamber connected to the audience room, Terry's luck ran out. He had expected hands to grab him and drag him off to one of those small, dark rooms, but he had not expected the hands to belong to Bellatrix's husband and the hyena that masqueraded as Bellatrix's brother-in-law.

Rabastan and Rudolphus threw him down roughly onto the floor of the room he knew too well. (Hadn't the floor been slate-colored once?) Rudolphus glared at Terry in disgust and dragged his scowling brother off as they left, shutting the door behind them. The room was dark now, and Terry wondered how long he was going to be lying there alone. However, he did not have to wait long, because he hadn't been alone in the first place.

Somewhere in the darkness, Bellatrix murmured, "Well, haven't we been a bad kitty?" Terry tried to stand up to move from the spot the brothers had left him in, but he realized that somewhere along the line Rudolphus or Rabastan had tied his hands behind his back. He knew he should have been able to move his legs, but it seemed that Bellatrix had made quick work of another restraint spell. He was stuck, lying facedown in the dark room, with Bellatrix prowling. He frantically hoped that she was under orders. If not, she had no limits.

There was an ear-splitting crack, and Terry cried out in pain as a whip lanced across his back and upper arms. On the bright side, at least she was using the whip. "Come now, haven't we gone over this before?" Bellatrix reminded him sweetly. She then continued harshly, "Speak when spoken to." Terry could tell that she had knelt down next to him. Part of her dress had pooled near his shoulder.

"Go to hell," Terry growled, having absolutely no clue where his courage was coming from. He should have been absolutely paralyzed with fear, not angry beyond belief. His back was becoming sticky with blood. He should have worn a thicker shirt.

Bellatrix laughed madly. Terry tried his best ignore her, but Bellatrix noticed and, seizing his jaw, forced him to look at her. He could barely see her in the dark, but his eyes were adjusting slightly. "Why, have you grown a backbone? That's very unpleasant. How do I fix this?" she wondered, speaking as if he had a disease. "I know! I should cut it out."

Terry stared at her in horror. She was not going to—she had to know that would kill him. Even if she didn't follow through on her words exactly, she could still paralyze him. Bellatrix's grin only became wider as Terry became more afraid of what she could do. She raked one of her nails down his jawline, drawing blood, before releasing him. He could hear as she walked away to retrieve a set of knives. She stayed where she was for the moment, but he could hear her sharpening them. Terry tried to stay calm, but all too strong memories were threatening to overwhelm him completely. He hoped Bellatrix was not going to notice.

She did not seem to, but she started talking about a worse topic. "So, Mr. White, I am sure you are wondering why I was taking particularly good care of you today," Bellatrix began conversationally, as if she were sharpening knives to cut up beef or lamb and not her cousin. "You see, fifteen years ago today, I had the honor of having a guest here with me much like you. He believed that mudbloods were just as good as purebloods. Unfortunately, the blood he bled was pure. I loved him in my own way, but in the end I found he never had appreciated it."

She sighed melodramatically and continued sadly, "He tried to be brave, but I fixed him. Maybe I'll be able to fix you, too. It would be a shame if I had to take your life as well. It is likewise a pity that you are a half-blood. You would have made such good breeding stock, if your stubbornness were to be forgiven." Bellatrix walked back over and unmade the spells that restrained Terry, who immediately scrambled away from her. She laughed at him and asked viciously, "Where are you going to run? You cannot escape me."

"I'd rather prolong the inevitable," Terry murmured, trying to think of a way out. There wasn't one, and it was an exercise in futility to think otherwise, but he had to keep his mind off Bellatrix. He could not think about what she was saying. He also refused to acknowledge that his back was to the wall. She practically skipped over to him and stood menacingly over him. He realized he should have stood. At least that way he wouldn't have had to stare as far up at her.

"He said that, too. Near the end. He was still trying to be brave," Bellatrix mused. With a sly smile, she reminisced, "Then I slit his throat. The blood was so red and warm. There was no way he could have survived." She sighed and murmured, "Such a waste." Emphasizing each word, she repeated, "Such a waste." Bellatrix then looked down at Terry in disgust. "Yes, I must fix you. Maybe I will not have to bleed you out in order to break you."

Terry knew he was pathetic, but feeling so scared that he couldn't move was one of those lows he tried to forget. He almost continued considering how absolutely pathetic he was when Bellatrix dropped her knives haphazardly. Most clattered to the floor, but she slammed the last knife into his leg as she knelt down to collect the ones she had dropped. Terry managed to only whimper. The pain wasn't too bad. He could handle it. "Oops," Bellatrix said, not at all apologetic, and yanked the knife out of his thigh. He screamed.

She laughed at him and continued about her business. She collected all of the knives and resumed laughing each time he flinched from her touch. "Do you remember? Or were you gone by then?" she asked conversationally as she removed his shirt. Surveying his scars, she lamented, "If only I could have talked to the artist that did this." She ran her hand over his chest, and, shivering, he tried to keep backing up into the wall. It did not work too well. Terry kept his eyes on Bellatrix's knives, hoping she would not pick another one up.

He felt his shoulder on fire. Bellatrix had obviously kept a spare knife. Terry turned to see Bellatrix cutting into his skin and watching him bleed. She had noticed his attention and made a deeper cut. He bit back a whine. "Oh, you're no fun," Bellatrix complained, pouting. In revenge, she pushed him down onto the floor. Terry tried to sit up, but she held him down solidly. His heart was racing, and the gash on his back ground into the rough, blood-slicked floor, causing agony to spread like wildfire across his back. Past the point of resisting, Terry just stared blankly at the ceiling, willing himself to ignore the pain. It never worked, but he always felt he had to try. "That's better," Bellatrix said, smiling. She continued along her merry way, and her cousin begged for death.

* * *

**_New_******_**s**: Updates should be coming once every two weeks from now on. I am almost finished writing the fic, so there should not be uninterrupted posting again, barring me forgetting due to work._

**_Coming Soon_**_: Dorcas and Barty get drunk, and Sirius is annoyed._


	42. Fade To Grey

Dorcas approved of bar hopping. However, her drinking partner could not be seen in public if he wanted to continue existing. Hence why she had bought vast quantities of beer (with the unlimited credit line Sirius had given her accidentally on purpose), which she was consuming with Barty, who kept worrying that Sirius would come back in the next five minutes. Dorcas internally laughed. Sirius wasn't going to return for a long time. She didn't really expect him until the afternoon, and it was only morning. Granted, it was very early in the morning, but what was time when there were alcoholic beverages to drink? Really, Barty was just paranoid.

"Meadowes, not that I don't appreciate your company, but don't you think it's best that I leave soon?" Barty asked, again nervously glancing at the door to the flat. He really needed to calm down. Also, he obviously had not had enough alcohol.

"Nah. Sirius isn't coming back for hours," Dorcas replied, waving his question off with her current drink. They were sitting at the kitchen table, and there was quite a bit of silicon detritus strewn upon it. Normal people called it glass, but Dorcas liked to be specific. She was also well aware that Barty was feeling awkward and just wanted to leave, but she had never much listened to him. The only time she had was in the bar, and that was the reason he was behaving as he was. She didn't see what was so wrong with their drinking together. Honestly.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Barty accused.

"Maybe," Dorcas replied before knocking back the rest of her beer. It hadn't been particularly good. Next time she'd go for quality and not quantity. She examined Barty. He seemed well or as well as he ever seemed. Despite the fact that Barty had been one of the smartest or at least most ambitious in his year (how he managed to earn twelve OWLs, Dorcas would never know), he still seemed to be able to look perpetually confused. Dorcas decided it was a result of his haircut and the fact that he was honestly confused so frequently.

"So… Why doesn't Black recognize Reg?" Barty asked, trying to be subtle. He wasn't, not really. Barty was never subtle in regards to his best friend. Dorcas knew he was really inquiring after Reggie's health, but she wasn't going to answer his questions so directly.

"Because dear Reggikins has these things people like to call issues, and Sirikins tends to break things when he's angry," Dorcas replied, considering opening another bottle of beer. While what she said was true, Dorcas honestly thought that Sirius wasn't going to have a very violent reaction. She imagined two scenarios: one with sharp, pointy things and one where they refused to talk to each other about it for a very long time because they were afraid of the other's reaction.

"Gee, Meadowes, really?" Barty snapped back. Dorcas wondered why it had taken him so long to get in a bad mood. They had been drinking for—she checked the clock—about 6 to 12 hours. The Death Eater glowered and said sullenly, "You know what I meant."

"I know that you know that I know what you mean," Dorcas replied. She went back to musing on the nature of life, the universe, and everything, mostly how she hadn't been laid in many a year. Granted, the last time hadn't gone well, but she doubted she'd get another chance anytime soon. At least Sirius wasn't going to be as sexually frustrated as Remus anymore. (Unless, of course, Sirius had been telling the truth about their porridge-like, bibliophilic friend.)

Barty sighed exasperatedly and took the cap off another beer. Dorcas believed he was on his eleventh. She was, quite frankly, amazed that he had paced himself so well. They had gotten together for drinks occasionally in the past, but neither had made a habit of it. Mostly, Dorcas would commiserate with Barty about romantic woes before they both decided to suck it up and go back to their normal lives of Auroring and Death Eating. Dorcas used to complain about mistaking her boyfriend's brother for her boyfriend. Barty just moped about his crush. Finally, he decided, "Look, Dorcas, you're what I assume you call friends with Black, right?" Dorcas nodded, wondering where Barty was going. "Why haven't you told him what's going on with Reg? You know Reg is terrible at this sort of thing. He's never going to tell Black."

Dorcas frowned and explained, "I have no right to tell Sirius that. First, he wouldn't believe me, and, second, Regulus would never be able to trust me again. You and I both know he would forgive me, but his trust is a very fragile thing." Dorcas sighed and looked out through the window. "You haven't had the chance to realize how much has changed."

"Meadowes, you've been dancing around the problem for hours. Every time I bring up what the hell is going on, you refuse to tell me anything," Barty complained, taking another swig of the beer. "Merlin, it took twenty bloody minutes to draw any sort of useful information out of Reg about whatever the fuck we're doing. Now you're being bloody vague."

"We're making Voldie mortal," Dorcas supplied, glad to do her good deed of the day.

Barty's eye twitched, and he corrected, "I know what we're doing now. As I said, I did get information out of Reg. Shit. You're a loony, do you know that, Meadowes?"

"Yes, I in fact do," Dorcas replied, having realized that the beer bottles were rather shiny and considered building a beer castle or a beer pyramid out of them. "In any case, Reggie is not a happy camper. I would assume that you could tell that, though, seeing the degree to which you watch him. Rather stalker-like of you, I'll have you know. I mean, but, you did know him best aside from Sirius back in the day." Dorcas knew that was only one way of putting it.

Barty became indignant, but he did not deny Dorcas's accusations, which hadn't really been accusations but more like observations. "Are you bloody going to tell me what's really going on or not?" he demanded, actually starting to be angry.

Dorcas blinked repeatedly. It might have been best to tell the truth and stop messing with Barty's mind. He could only take so much, after all. "Well, I don't know," she replied slowly. Looking down at the table, she continued, "I'm pretty sure Regulus is hiding something from all of us, probably about the final horcrux. He really doesn't want to talk about that. He also rejoined the Death Eaters and according to Sirius has been beaten regularly ever since."

"That's not too much out of the ordinary," Barty commented, intent on observing the bottle forest that had sprung up on the table. "Rudolphus never really liked him, and Reg's uncertain status didn't really help. I think the only reason he was what passed in the Death Eaters for a noncombatant was that he's Bellatrix's cousin and everything that goes with that."

"What, the inbreeding?"

Barty didn't even bother to glare at Dorcas as he continued, correcting her, "No. He was effectively the heir to one of the oldest pureblood houses. Yes, most knew Sirius was going to inherit, but it seemed like Reg was mostly on the Dark Lord's side. So, many of us let Reg's refusal to kill or torture indiscriminately pass. However, those that didn't usually had the Dark Lord's ear. Reg also had a horrible tendency to speak his mind. It's why he isn't as fazed by the Cruciatus curse as most everyone. I tend to think it fucked up his nervous system."

Dorcas turned grim. "Lovely," she said before continuing, "And, I don't know if he told you, but Vesta, Regulus's wife, apparently almost died at the end of November. Bellatrix tried to kill her or something. Anyway, Reggie's been blaming himself ever since. It's really weighing on him." Dorcas only belatedly realized that Regulus might not have told Barty about the whole being married thing. Was it sad that she didn't put it past him?

"Why am I not surprised?" Barty muttered. "He's bloody impossible."

Dorcas decided that she did not want to continue upon this tangent of conversation, so she fell back on an old reliable way to get Barty to change the subject very quickly. Dorcas started, "On the bright side, at least he still looks fine. I think the scars make him handsomer."

Barty rolled his eyes and said, "Dorcas, please tell me you aren't trying to bait me. I expected better of you, even if you are a Gryffindork and thus hardwired to be immature."

"Oh, I'm the immature one? I wasn't the one Daddy snuck out of Azkaban," Dorcas retorted with a snort. "Christ, how long did it take you to beg Mummy to help her poor little boy? She must have been such a sap. I mean, honestly, who would do that for you?"

Barty jumped across the table and tackled Dorcas to the floor. Okay, maybe she deserved that. She needed to add Barty's mother to the "Do Not Talk About" list, which included such varied people as Fabian Prewett, Walburga Black, Eileen Prince, and Renaud Lestrange. (Dorcas did feel bad about what she said about Mrs. Crouch. Barty's mum had always seemed like a nice lady.) For that reason, Dorcas was far from surprised that she and Barty continued to attempt to beat the shit out of each other on the floor, but she was not going to relent. Dorcas could apologize later. Plus, Barty clearly had some frustration he needed to work through.

Straddling Barty, Dorcas was about to punch him in the face (bastard had somehow managed to kick her in the solar plexus) when they both heard someone at the door. Dorcas and Barty exchanged looks before taking in the state of the flat, mostly the preponderance of beer bottles, ignoring their current position on the kitchen floor. If Sirius had come back and entered the flat to find them there, he would be mostly confused, especially because Dorcas belatedly realized she was scantily clad. Dorcas didn't really care.

Dorcas and Barty continued to remain where they were until there was an inauspicious thump, at which point Dorcas jumped up, grabbed her blanket off the couch, and fashioned herself a makeshift toga. Barty sat up, wondering what was at the door, and made to answer it when Dorcas practically threw herself in front of said door. "Hide, you idiot!" she exclaimed in a stage whisper. Barty realized Dorcas was indeed correct and made a dive for the couch, which he did manage to hide himself behind. Dorcas straightened herself and answered the door.

No one was there. She then looked down and cursed. "Crouch, get your ass over here," she ordered with no room for discussion. "Help me carry him to the spare bed." Barty quickly came over, and the blood drained from his face. Dorcas reiterated, "Barty, help me carry him."

Barty nodded mutely and helped Dorcas lift Regulus off the floor. Dorcas noted that the currently unconscious one had a nasty wound on his shoulder, another on his thigh, and seemingly a whole mess on his back. She readjusted her grip on him. "He doesn't look too good," Barty murmured as they lifted him onto the bed in what was now Dorcas's room.

Dorcas checked for a pulse. She felt one. With a frown, Dorcas realized, "Shit, we should clean him up. I mean…" She paused in laying Regulus down, noting how torn up his back looked through what was left of his shirt. His back was covered with ugly-looking cuts and welts. None of the latter seemed worrisome. "Barty, have you ever cast upper-level healing spells?" she asked, wondering if he even knew any.

"Er, I know a couple. Reg made me learn one or two, just in case," Barty replied, now very nervous. Worried, he asked hesitantly, "How bad does it look?" He surveyed Regulus's lower body, not particularly liking the look of the gash in his thigh. Dorcas winced as she peeled off what was left of Regulus's shirt. His back was covered in bruises and scraped all to hell.

Sobered, Dorcas demanded, "Can you heal that knife wound?" It didn't seem like the slashes on Regulus's back were still bleeding, but she worried about the stab wound. Dorcas seriously considered just going to St. Mungo's despite her current status of mostly dead, Barty's of supposedly soulless, and Reg's of pretty fucking dead. She had always been decent in Transfiguration, but her glamour charms were shite. Hence, there was no way in hell that she or Barty were taking Regulus there. Fine, so it didn't matter much if she were recognized, but she didn't know anything about Regulus's medical history. Dorcas knew was that Sirius was allergic to almost everything medicine-related, but she had absolutely no clue at all about Regulus.

Barty nodded mutely to Dorcas's question, looking distraught. He rushed back off to the kitchen to get his wand, which Regulus had somehow recovered for him. When he came back and as he cast a sobering charm on himself, Dorcas had laid their injured friend down on the bed properly with a towel she had _accio_'d from the chair under his back. She brushed the hair out of Regulus's face and tried not to wince in sympathy. He looked as if he was in a shitload of pain. Barty bit his lip but quickly cast a healing spell on the knife gash. It healed a little but stopped bleeding. Dorcas knew that was the best he could do. Healing was, after all, one of the more difficult magical disciplines. (She acknowledged the intelligence of the sobering charm, though, and cast one on herself. She was good at those. Healing, not so much.)

"What are we going to do about his back? Dorcas, we should take him to St. Mungo's," Barty said, understandably worried. He tried another spell on Regulus's shoulder, and the wounds healed almost completely. Nauseated, Barty surveyed the horrible mess of slashes and bruises Regulus had managed to acquire. Dorcas raised an eyebrow, prompting Barty to explain, "Only about two-thirds of the scars are from… well, you know when." Dorcas wondered how extensive the bruises were. Regulus also had some defensive wounds on his hands and forearms. When Barty realized Dorcas was not going to answer the question at the moment, he asked, "Do you know the basic medical diagnostic spell?"

"Yeah. Auror Training 101," she replied, slightly distracted, and cast it. She read the floating panel that appeared in front of her and informed Barty, "So, it seems like he's not really badly injured. It's mostly just cosmetic injuries and that gash in his leg, but you've at least stopped the bleeding, so if we dress the wound, he'll be all right at least until Sirius gets back." Dorcas blanched as she finished reading the diagnostic report. She wished she didn't know a possible interpretation of that result, but she would not have put it past Bellatrix. Sighing, Dorcas asked Barty, "You want to clean all the blood off him? Your hands are probably steadier than mine are right now. I know I drank a lot more than you did, and I trust my sobering charms, but… I don't know how well he'd react if he woke up to me cleaning him up. I mean, I assume he trusts you more than he trusts me, really. Plus, you know, you're a guy."

"Right," Barty murmured, watching their friend forlornly. "Why don't you get some clean clothes for him? I'm sure his brother won't mind. I'd get them myself, but Black would kill me if I set foot in his room."

"Sure," Dorcas replied, nodding. She turned to leave, but she stopped and asked, wishing she didn't sound nervous in the slightest, "You'll be able to heal the cuts on his back, right?"

Barty grimaced but replied reluctantly, "Yeah. I've done it before."

Dorcas tried not to stare open-mouthed. She honestly hadn't expected that. Christ, Barty really had gone out on a limb for Regulus. Sympathizing with the blood-traitors was enough to get you executed in the Death Eaters. Helping a complete traitor marked for execution? " 'Kay," Dorcas acknowledged and quickly left the room.

She rummaged through Sirius's clothes for a good half an hour, hoping to find something nearing ruinable. Trouble was that most of Sirius's clothes looked ruinable, but she knew that he was attached to a good number of them. Deciding to hell with it, she just grabbed a set of pajamas and a clean pair of socks that may have matched at some point. Halfway out the door, she realized she still needed to retrieve a pair of boxers. Oh, that was awkward. Sirius really didn't like other people wearing his underwear, even if it were his very-much-broken brother.

Well, Sirius would just have to get over it. Next, Dorcas ran into the kitchen area to get the bandages and rubbing alcohol, but found that Barty had already taken them. So, she walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Barty, you found the first-aid stuff?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, apparently irritated that Dorcas was disturbing him.

"I have the change of clothes," she informed him and, quickly opening and closing the door, threw them in haphazardly.

"Meadowes, that was uncalled for."

Dorcas ignored Barty and properly dressed before going to the kitchen to make herself useful. She started cleaning up the bottles strewn around and managed to vaguely organize them on the table. When she decided that looked all right, Dorcas put on some water to boil. Sirius had thrown out all of the coffee a couple days prior, and Dorcas had saved most of it, but she knew she was in the minority considering coffee. Plus, it wouldn't be too good of an idea to give Regulus anything containing caffeine, seeing that was a blood thinner or something like that.

It was seven in the morning by the time Dorcas and Barty were sitting back at the kitchen table, this time drinking tea. Well, Dorcas was drinking tea-flavored milk, but that was beside the point. Barty looked grim, so Dorcas hadn't asked about how Regulus was yet. Finally, Barty said, "I think Reg is going to be fine. I managed to bandage his back well enough, but I still think that we should take him to St. Mungo's."

"You're right," Dorcas admitted, sipping her "tea." She looked off to the side and sighed. "Look, we're going to take him there, but I would prefer that we waited for Sirius to come back here so that we can hide you and call some healers to come here to take Regulus there."

Barty nodded in reply, looking pensive. The two of them sat where they were, not particularly doing anything but waiting for Sirius to come back or some other interruption to occur. Dorcas considered drinking again, but she decided that remaining sober might be for the better. Sirius would be really angry were he to return and find she and possibly Barty drunk again with Regulus half-dead in the other room.

After a long while, Dorcas decided to make herself coffee. The tea just wasn't cutting it. She stood up and was about to retrieve her stash when Regulus made his conscious presence known by stumbling through the door into the main room. Dorcas was close enough so that she caught him before he fell flat on his face. Unfortunately, that had required that she had steadied him by placing her arm around his back. He winced but didn't make a sound. Dorcas considered adjusting her position, but she had the feeling that if she tried, Regulus would fall over.

She led him over to the couch and made sure he lay down. Dorcas was glad she hadn't needed to argue with him. Granted, there was now going to be a long discussion, but that was beside the point. Regulus's face was ashen, and he looked as if he had expended all the energy he had left just walking into the room. "What time is it?" he inquired softly. Dorcas was glad he was having trouble staying conscious. In her opinion, he should have stayed in bed and slept.

However, Dorcas answered his question gently, "It's around seven-thirty, eight. We found you outside the door at about five." She didn't ask what had happened, simply because she felt that if Barty did not think it prudent to share his theory, Dorcas should not be asking.

"Oh," Regulus murmured, grimacing in pain as he tried to sit back up. Dorcas was about to try to make him lie back down, but he jumped as if scalded when she started to try. She backed off, realizing that his torturer had not been very kind. Regulus looked ashamed by his reaction and stopped trying to sit up. Delirious with pain, he asked pathetically, "Where's Siri?"

Dorcas glanced back at Barty before hesitating to answer. She could tell the truth, or she could lie and give Regulus some sleeping pills to make sure he didn't wake up again until Sirius was back. Sighing, she answered truthfully, "Sirius isn't here. I think he'll be back around noon."

Regulus nodded weakly, looking resigned. "Y'mind if I sleep here?" he murmured, already half-asleep again. Dorcas still had the couch configured as a bed, but she was not pleased by the idea of Regulus sleeping there in his condition. He would be far better off in her room. She knew he couldn't be comfortable on the couch, and now that she got a proper look at him, she wondered how on earth he had managed to walk between the rooms, much less apparate himself to Sirius's flat. Dorcas noticed that Barty had not been spare with the bandages. Granted, she didn't really blame him, although she did wonder where the cut on Regulus's jaw came from. The rest of his face was untouched, unlike the rest of his body, presumably. Hell, he even had some nasty bruises covering his neck.

Despite her reservations, Dorcas smiled and said, "No, Reggie, I don't mind. Go to sleep, okay? We'll wake you up when Sirius is back, all right?" He seemed thankful he didn't have to move and quickly drifted back to sleep. Dorcas frowned and, after retrieving the blanket she had temporarily used as a toga, put it over Regulus. With another sigh, she walked back over to sit with Barty once more. Dorcas wondered how inappropriate it would be if she spiked her tea with firewhisky. She certainly felt like she needed a glass.

Barty was quietly staring down at the table. He seemed to be having an internal debate, but Dorcas wasn't always so sure about these things. She had been wrong before. "Dorcas, I need to tell you something," Barty began, hesitant. "You know how bad beatings could get in the Death Eaters, right? Well, Reg definitely got off light. At least, it seems like it. Yeah, his back is a mess, and he has two deep knife-wounds, but that's it. I would say that Bellatrix went easy on him based on that, but something's just off."

Dorcas absently nodded in agreement and resumed staring out the window. For a moment, Barty considered continuing, but he lost his nerve and left it at that. They said no more to one another until Sirius returned.

* * *

Grinning and in an excellent mood, Sirius opened the door to his flat and was greeted with a scene of which he heartily did not approve. He had been in said very good mood because he and Artemesia had had a very nice night, but he was not quite so happy now that he saw that White was lying on his couch, asleep. Frowning, Sirius walked into his flat and locked the door behind him. Upon further examination, he noticed that Crouch and Dorcas were sitting at the kitchen table, looking very grim. Sirius glanced at White, realizing the younger man looked as if he'd been pulled out of a war zone, before stalking over to the other two and demanding, "What the hell is going on? What in the bloody hell is wrong with White? Why in the name of God is he even here?" The other two stared at him: Dorcas in relief and Crouch in horror.

"Calm down, Sirius. He's asleep," warned Dorcas in a stage-whisper, tilting her head in the direction of the couch. She grimaced and explained, "He passed out outside the flat around six, not looking too well, so we brought him inside and cleaned him up."

Sirius had the feeling that Dorcas was oversimplifying the situation and leaving quite a bit of the story out. He turned to Crouch and glared, knowing that the Death Eater cracked very easily under pressure. Nervously, Crouch made his attempt at an explanation: "So, Dorcas is telling the truth, Black. Really. Aside from what she said, Terry woke up at one point or another and made camp on the couch instead of in Dorcas's room, where he was before." A thought hit Crouch, and he asked Dorcas, "Did you clean up all the blood or—" Crouch stopped himself there, but it was far too late. Sirius had already heard.

Instead of throttling Crouch, which would be satisfying nevertheless, Sirius turned to stare at Dorcas in disbelief. "Dorcas, answer me," he ordered, starting to be very angry. "What the hell is going on with White? How in the name of God did he get injured _again_?"

"Bellatrix," Crouch interjected before Sirius could continue. Dorcas looked at Crouch in surprise, but Sirius glared at him for interrupting. Also, the thought that Bellatrix was on the loose contributed. "She's the only one that fond of knives. The slashes aren't from curses."

Sirius took a calming breath. He was not going to go kill Bellatrix. He really wasn't, even if he would have loved to so much. He should have killed her at Regulus's funeral when he had the chance. Unfortunately, Sirius had done the responsible, socially respectable thing and not killed her over his brother's grave. However, he was not going to go off on a tangent about Bellatrix. Everyone currently in residence agreed that she was a psychotic witch. Plastering a neutral expression on his face, Sirius demanded, "Why haven't you taken him to St. Mungo's?"

"We were waiting for you," Dorcas replied calmly. It seemed like she was trying to remain under control, but it wasn't really working out. Of course, when Sirius was angry with Dorcas, Dorcas tended to repay the favor in spades. "And I thought you might want to be the one that hauled his sorry ass off to the hospital, because I was just assuming that you probably know the most about what the hell might be wrong with him. I didn't want to be bloody responsible for having him go into anaphylactic shock because he's allergic to penicillin!"

"Why would he be allergic to penicillin?" Sirius demanded, his anger resurging.

"Because! People have allergies, and I don't know if he does or not!" Dorcas screeched back at him, frustrated. She set her jaw and glared off to the side, fuming. After a moment, she turned her gaze onto Sirius and said, "The point is that I didn't know what to do. Dammit, Sirius, I panicked! Merlin, I don't know, I just thought you might know more about White. Fucking hell, what if he had the same problem with medicine as you? _I didn't fucking know_."

Sirius glared at Crouch, who defended, "Hey, I had the same idea as you, but Dorcas made a really good point. I mean, she's supposed to be dead, and I'm a fugitive, technically, so if one of us fire-called St. Mungo's, there would be hell to pay. Remember, this is _your_ flat."

Accepting Crouch's explanation for the moment, Sirius stood there, trying to calm down and mostly failing. He knew Dorcas and Crouch had good points, but he couldn't really bring himself to forgive Dorcas for failing to take White to St. Mungo's. She could have. Sirius's temper cooled at that thought. How much worse would he have reacted had she just spirited White off to St. Mungo's and left Crouch to explain? Sirius couldn't imagine a happy ending.

With a sigh, Sirius pulled up one of the chairs and took a seat at the table. He sat there for another good minute before asking Crouch civilly, "Did you at least find the painkillers?"

Crouch, understandably, was greatly confused by Sirius's behavior, especially since Dorcas didn't show any signs of backing down. "Well, yeah. There was that morphine you had in the first-aid box with the instructions and stuff, and I thought it might be a smart idea—"

"Good job, Crouch," Sirius muttered, cutting the other man off. Crouch would be suitably confused for at least the rest of the day, but Sirius couldn't really bring himself to care. Addressing Dorcas, Sirius asked, "I take it he looked a lot worse when you brought him in?"

"Yeah," Dorcas replied shortly. Frowning, Sirius nodded and wished he had returned earlier. If he had, then he would have been able to take White to St. Mungo's immediately instead of coming back around noon and shouting at Dorcas. She seemed to feel slightly guilty, though, and Dorcas explained, "Sirius, we really couldn't have taken him in. How could we have explained ourselves? 'Oh, hi. I'm a dead Auror, and I'm currently looking to see if you'll admit a very injured and not-quite-but-effectively current Death Eater, who Voldie and the others don't particularly like, as you can see. Please fix him?' It would have gone over spectacularly; White would be in a prison cell, and I'd be checked into one of the psychiatric wards at St. Mungo's."

"I know, Dorcas," Sirius murmured, head in his hands. When had he allowed himself to become so close with White? He shouldn't have let himself, pure and simple. The younger man would inevitably be killed by what was going on, and he would get there faster if he kept making the same sort of stupid mistakes Sirius supposed White made every time the Death Eaters forced him into a situation like this. Sirius was well aware that White could take a beating, but one way or another Bellatrix or Voldemort or some random Death Eater would take a step too far, and that would be the end of it. Sirius had buried enough friends and a brother too many.

"Good. I was just checking," Dorcas replied with some finality, settling down enough to resume drinking her "tea." After taking a couple sips, she mentioned, "He wanted us to wake him when you got back. I don't know if that's such a smart idea, though. It really looked like he needs his sleep. He couldn't stay awake for longer than the five minutes it took for us to make sure he wasn't going to attempt to stand again."

Sirius was uncertain of what he should do. On one hand, he could wake White and be subject to questioning. On the other hand, he could let White sleep and just take him to St. Mungo's, supposing that he talked to him later. It would probably be better for White's physical health were Sirius to just drag his sorry ass off to the hospital, but it might be better for White's mental health were he to wake him. Sighing, Sirius made his decision and stood. As Crouch mentioned, White could stand pain.

When he moved to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch, Sirius realized how beat up White was or must have been. He wondered who had decided that it was a good idea to put White in Sirius's clothes, but Sirius decided that he could forgive it. He didn't want to think about the condition that White's own clothes were in. He watched White with regret. He knew it was his fault that White had been put in a position to be hurt like this.

Placing a hand on White's shoulder, Sirius said gently, "Terry, wake up." White groaned softly and curled up a little more. Sirius smiled wanly and lightly shook White's shoulder. The younger man still refused to stir. Sirius thought about what to do for a moment. After all, he didn't want to do anything drastic. Sirius mused, "Well, I suppose if he doesn't wake up, I'll just pour a bucket of water on him. That always seemed to work with me, and I sleep like the de—"

White sat up straight and exclaimed, "I'm awake!" He looked very suspicious of Sirius, who was now grinning at him, quite satisfied with himself. However, White immediately blanched with pain and fell back onto the couch. He murmured, "Sirius, you're here."

"Yeah, White. Dorcas and Crouch said you were asking for me?" Sirius answered. He hoped that White would say whatever he had been planning on saying. Granted, Sirius wasn't expecting miracles, but he could still wish for them. Trying to figure out White's motives was like trying to decipher the enigma code. Sirius felt it prudent to add, "Oh, and after this, you're going to St. Mungo's, and I'm calling your wife to tell her you're all right."

White's eyes widened. "No! Don't tell Vesta!" he pleaded. Of course, White's current pathetic status did actually convince Sirius to be a little less harsh with him. Not too much, though. Sirius wouldn't want White to think he was going soft. With a sigh, White explained reluctantly, "I spoke out again in the meeting, and I know I shouldn't have, but…" White trailed off and bit his lip. Sirius believed he was just imagining things, but White may have been on the verge of crying. At that point, he curled up and begged, "Sirius, please forgive me! Please!"

Sirius's expression turned neutral. What in the name of God was White this afraid of telling him? It had to be bad; otherwise, White would not have been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "White, whatever it is, just tell me. I'll get over it," he said, well aware that he did not sound reassuring. It was hard to when he noticed how banged up White's hands were. Regulus used to play piano… Sirius sighed, dispelling the memories.

White was shaking but he managed to murmur, "I told Voldemort I was only friends with you so I could betray Potter to him." Sirius froze. What? "He told me to kill you," White continued quickly, as if saying it faster would be less painful. "I won't—can't do it, any of it."

Coldly, Sirius demanded, "Does Voldemort know? Does he know you're a traitor?"

White sniffed and nodded. Sirius could tell the coward actually was crying now. It really figured, though, didn't it? Of course White would give in and… "Well, Bella thinks she knows," White murmured, correcting himself, scared to death of the theory. "She as good as admitted it."

Sirius nodded tersely and said, "Well, I have to get going." White's face fell, and he accepted Sirius's response with resignation. Ignoring him, Sirius stood and addressed Dorcas: "You can take him to St. Mungo's. I remembered I have a meeting to attend."

Dorcas stared at him in shock but stayed silent. Crouch was pretending not to have heard anything. "Right," White said, failing rather terribly at keeping the emotion out of his voice. Of course, it was obvious he was struggling not to break down. "I guess I'll see you again in February, right?" He was trying not to sound hopeful, but Sirius thought it was quite obvious.

"Of course. We have to kill Voldemort," Sirius said. He left and did not turn back.

About halfway down the hall, he did stop. There was no reason for Sirius to feel guilty about just brushing White off like that. He deserved it. That soft idiot told Voldemort… God, White was going to get himself killed with that sort of behavior! Leaning against the wall, Sirius grimaced. Why did White have to be so bloody naïve? Why was he still so bloody naïve? It was just insane. Christ, Sirius had to go get a drink. Or talk to Remus. Or both. Both sounded really good. Yes, Sirius was going to find Remus, drag him off to a bar, and get thoroughly plastered.

White stumbled out the door to the flat. Sirius glanced over and reflexively started to move to help him. However, White balanced himself against the wall, so Sirius went back to staring murderously at the wall opposite him. Bloody hell, though! White shouldn't have been walking around. Well, Sirius corrected, limping. Frustrated, Sirius hit his head back against the wall and went to go help White. "You shouldn't be standing," he mentioned. It only seemed like White had twisted his ankle, so Sirius had half a mind to leave for real this time.

White stared at the ground, obviously trying to figure out what to say. When no words came, Sirius sighed frustratedly and made to leave. White didn't even try to stop him. Again, Sirius was not surprised. In fact, he almost half-expected it. In any case, Sirius was sick of shadows. He hadn't taken five steps before White cried, "I'm sorry. Sirius, I'm so sorry. I beg of you, please forgive me! Oh, God, Sirius, I'm sorry! It's all my fault…"

He stopped, but he didn't turn. White continued to sob pathetically. With a sigh, Sirius murmured, "I already forgave you." He walked back over to White, who had crumpled to the floor, and helped him back into the flat. (Dorcas, who was conspicuously absent, had presumably taken Crouch away with her.) It took some willpower to stay with White, but Sirius had to.

When White had mostly calmed down, Sirius called St. Mungo's. White didn't object; he just asked if this—his injuries, their argument, his ensuing breakdown, the entire day—was going to get in the way of the plans. Sirius considered telling him that they were going to wait until White was completely better, but the sooner they finished the job, the sooner the war would end, and the less danger everyone would be in. In the end, Sirius told White their earlier plans still applied. When all was said and done, the war was what really mattered. Sirius had no right to ask White for anything else.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Vesta talks to Artemesia, and Regulus outlines the plan for finding Horcruxes.  
_


	43. Goodbye Blue Sky

Sirius had just left, and Regulus, curled up on the hospital bed, wished he hadn't. He didn't want to be alone, not now. Dorcas and Barty had understood that. They had let him sleep on the couch. Yes, he had to admit that there were medwitches and medwizards wandering around the halls of St. Mungo's, but he needed someone he knew. He would have taken anyone.

Shaking, Regulus closed his eyes and tried to block out the rest of the world. He probably could pull it off if he tried hard enough. There wouldn't be anyone to come by and check on him for a while. His injuries had been quickly dealt with, and it had seemed like he would be released later that day until all the wounds on his back had reopened. Regulus had had a feeling he knew what potion had been ground into the floor of that room, but he hadn't been completely sure until he felt the blood seeping through his bandages. At that point, an enlightened medwizard had decided to stitch up the gash made by the whip and dose him with an anti-hemorrhagic. So, he was to stay at the hospital for at least a day or two for observation.

Regulus hadn't been aware that he had drifted off to sleep, but he must have, seeing as the next moment, it was nearly an hour later. Also, Vesta was sitting next to his bedside, watching him, obviously worried. His first thought was to pretend he was still asleep. The second was he should beg for forgiveness. The third was to allow himself to cry and hope she wasn't angry with him. He chose door number three.

Gingerly, Vesta placed her hand on his shoulder. He tried not to flinch from her touch, but she did not seem to notice because of the sobs wracking his body. Vesta murmured, "Shh. It's all right, honey. You're safe here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." She hesitantly stroked his cheek, trying desperately to find some way to calm him.

However, Regulus found that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe her, and he hated himself for it. Worse, he couldn't think of anything to say. What was there to say, anyhow? Could he apologize for something that wasn't really his fault? Yes, he could apologize for putting himself in the circumstances that resulted in the situation, but he hadn't asked for Bellatrix to do what she had done. He never had. Regulus took a deep, shuddering breath and tried not to think about any of it. He could concentrate on his wife. Vesta was there. She was worried. She wanted him to feel better and not to be scared of every noise and shadow.

"It happened again, didn't it?" Vesta asked slowly, ashamed. He knew she was ashamed of him and not the question. After all, he had stopped fighting Bellatrix so quickly this time. It was pathetic, disgusting, that he hadn't been able to do any more than he had. Vesta, in the meantime, had inferred that what she suspected was true. "Oh, my God, Regulus…"

He shut his eyes. He wasn't so sure he could bear to see her so disappointed in him. Regulus waited for her to condemn him, but the words never came. He looked up to realize that Vesta was crying and murmuring, "I'm sorry," over and over. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be angry with him and shout at him, not this. With some effort, Regulus managed to sit up. He brushed some hair out of her eyes and tried to smile.

Unfortunately, that just made Vesta cry harder. Regulus couldn't just sit there, doing nothing, letting the guilt overwhelm him. Before he could do anything, Vesta moved to the bed and wrapped her arms around him, crying into his shoulder. He tried to comfort her, but he couldn't find it in him to be particularly comforting. Regulus would continue to hold her for as long as she needed, but he selfishly hoped he might feel better, too. He doubted it, but he could dream, couldn't he?

Eventually, Vesta was the one trying to calm him. She held him close and told him that everything was going to be all right. However, he knew neither of them really believed that. He had never recovered in the first place. How could he now?

* * *

Vesta was not by any means in a good mood. She in fact had not been in a good mood since she had brought her husband back home from the hospital. He was asleep in their room upstairs, and Vesta hoped he slept for the rest of the night. She knew it was unlikely, and that he would be awake most of the night, from the nausea or the nightmares or any of the other usual reasons he woke in the small hours of the morning. Vesta was glad that he was on some very effective painkillers for that very reason.

In any case, Vesta was sitting downstairs, drinking tea with Artemesia, who, for some reason, had been in town. The younger woman had been at the house since before Vesta had been called away to the hospital. Normally, Vesta would have interrogated her cousin about the reasons she was in London and not at Hogwarts, but Vesta wasn't so sure she could bring herself to do so with Terry in the condition he was.

"How bad is it?" Artemesia asked finally, sounding nervous. She had been staring at her tea for the past five minutes, so Vesta knew the question had been coming.

"He should still be in the hospital," Vesta replied stoically. It was true. Terry should have been back at the hospital, where he could be constantly monitored. However, she doubted that he would have been comfortable there. He hated feeling so helpless, and, to make matters worse, he was scared to death of being permanently placed in St. Mungo's psychiatric ward.

"Oh," Artemesia said, looking down at her tea again.

With a sigh, Vesta clarified, "It's nothing life-threatening." It wasn't, not really. Terry had never attempted to hurt himself, even if he had mentioned suicide lately. His injuries could have healed well enough on their own aside from the gash on his leg, which easily may have become infected, but he had needed medical attention to reverse the potion he had been dosed with. "He lost a good deal of blood, and his back was a mess, but it was manageable."

Artemesia nodded and sighed. Vesta wondered what Artemesia had wanted to talk to her about when she had walked through the door that morning. If Vesta could wish for anything, she would have hoped that there was a little less sexual tension in the world, but her cousin was probably still behaving like a Victorian lady (or Vesta's brother-in-law was still acting like a wet blanket; either way, there was a problem). Hesitantly, Artemesia inquired, "Vesta, has anyone told Sirius what happened?"

"He's the one that brought Terry to the hospital," Vesta replied, feeling completely distracted. She couldn't help but feel disconnected from the conversation. Artemesia was undoubtedly concerned for Terry, but Vesta knew her cousin had stayed for her benefit. Vesta explained, "Apparently Terry just apparated to his brother's doorstep and passed out."

"I'm surprised Sirius had enough presence of mind to take Terry to St. Mungo's," Artemesia admitted. Vesta didn't understand what Artemesia was getting at, but her cousin continued, "I would have thought Sirius would have realized everything if he saw Terry bloodied and unconscious at his door. I guess I'm wrong, but Sirius really should have realized."

"He may have, Artemesia," Vesta mentioned. After all, Sirius had stayed at the hospital for over three hours with his brother, according to Healer McCoy. On a related note, Vesta was glad that Sirius had explained away his brother's tattoo. She had no clue what he had said, but none of her colleagues had disputed Sirius's explanation. She didn't _think_ Sirius had bribed them, but Vesta, for some reason, wouldn't put it past him, especially if he knew about Terry.

Artemesia laughed in disbelief. "No, Vesta, had Sirius realized Terry was indeed Regulus, you wouldn't have been able to convince the doctors to let Terry out of the hospital. Hell, they wouldn't have been able to get Sirius to leave, for that matter," Artemesia argued reasonably. With a grimace, she continued, "You have no idea how Sirius used to act when Regulus got in a jam. Sirius was so angry when he found out that Regulus had decided that going to class while on morphine—the day after he'd gotten the Dark Mark—was a good idea."

Vesta remembered that day, but she hadn't known the reason Terry had been so out of it. What she had noticed at the time was that one of the first-year medical students had managed to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a hall in the St. Mungo's medical school. Vesta had to admit that nervous breakdowns weren't completely out of the ordinary, but she had noticed that particular nervous breakdown not because of the popular belief that she was stalking said medical student. Vesta hadn't known his name by that point. No, she had taken note because two Aurors had arrived shortly thereafter, because one of the student's friends had rushed off to call the Aurors for a reason connected to the bandage on his friend's left arm. The Auror had yelled at the medical student, who was apparently his younger brother, before ordering the rest of the cluster of first-years to take their friend back to his flat. "It wasn't a pretty sight," Vesta murmured.

"To be honest, I was surprised how upset Sirius was, Vesta. He couldn't understand why Regulus had done it, taken the Mark," Artemesia murmured, unable to meet Vesta's gaze. "Sirius blamed himself, but his reaction then was nowhere near as bad as what happened later."

"I can imagine," Vesta murmured. She didn't mention the self-destructive spiral Terry had gone into during that fall and winter. He usually refused to talk about those few months, but Vesta had gathered that Terry had forsworn himself in an attempt to convince Sirius to talk to him again. That said, she knew he had never had his heart in the Death Eaters' cause. He had wanted to help people, not join the conflict.

Looking pensive, Artemesia asked, "He is going to be fine, isn't he?" She was fiddling with her teacup again, and Vesta hoped Artemesia wouldn't start putting sugar in the tea. She never drank it afterward. "Terry just hasn't seemed well lately, you know?" Artemesia murmured, sounding guilty.

"He hasn't been," Vesta admitted. "He's having nightmares again. It was inevitable, but I had wish he had told me earlier." She was well aware that he had not informed her when they had first restarted, but he had admitted it earlier that day. "Apparently the nightmares only became unbearable in late December. They hadn't been that hard on him up until then, just some bad dreams he could deal with, but the night before Australia…"

Artemesia nodded and said, "I remember. Do you know what set him off? I mean, I know he still has nightmares about the war, but you mean the other ones, don't you?"

Vesta sighed and admitted, "I think that one triggered the rest. Dammit, Artemesia, he was fine up until then, but it's been like hell ever since." Desperate, she continued, "He needs to leave, leave the country, leave the war behind."

"You know he won't, Vesta," Artemesia said quietly. "He'd never forgive himself."

"No, he wouldn't," Vesta agreed, hating herself for it. "And he won't leave." Biting her lip, she asked glumly, "Had he always been like this, Artemesia? When you attended Hogwarts? Has he always been so bloody reckless?"

Artemesia smiled and replied gently, "No, Vesta. You just bring out the hero in him."

* * *

"I don't know what to do. You'd know. Christ, I can't believe myself most days. What I've been doing… It's wrong. I know that. I was taught to be better than that. But I can't say anything. I can't ask. I should be a better role model. I should have done better, but I've fucked everything up. God, Dad, what should I do?"

The tombstone remained silent. All the ghosts watched in silence.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Terry was sitting in the bedroom of his flat, wondering how he had managed to completely screw everything over. He had the sinking feeling that Bellatrix recognized him. It was one of the few conclusions he had drawn in the past couple of weeks. Yes, he did have a better general idea of how they were going to steal the rest of the stationary horcruxes, but he had the great pleasure of explaining to his overprotective big brother how Potter had to die. Terry considered putting off breaking the news yet again.

Currently, Sirius was the only one missing from meeting. Barty was off reading a book on the couch, and Dorcas had managed to arrive twenty minutes prior, although she was happy with her coffee at the kitchen table. Terry was alone in the bedroom, trying to stay composed. He knew that Sirius hadn't been too happy the last time they saw each other. Honestly, Terry couldn't blame him. He had technically betrayed Sirius's trust, and Sirius never forgave easily. It couldn't have helped that Terry had broken down in front of Sirius, who had not immediately told him to get over it and then left. The bloody idiot had actually stayed, which was mad. Sirius couldn't deal with that sort of shit. Everyone knew it. Hell, Terry couldn't even deal with…

Terry shuddered. No. He was not going to think about Bellatrix. He was not going to think about what his cousin—No. He was in his room in his flat, and Bellatrix couldn't reach him. He was safe. She couldn't hurt him here.

Terry did not want to think himself into a bad place. He did not want to deal with any of that right then. Sirius, as was his habit, essentially had given Terry an ultimatum: he was not going to stand for Terry running himself into the ground and furthermore could and would drag Terry off to Vesta so she could talk some sense into him. Terry knew his older brother meant well, but he just hoped Sirius wasn't giving an encore of years past.

As he was musing on how annoying his older brother's overprotective streak was, Terry heard Dorcas complain loudly and theatrically, "It was literally slushing. Slush was falling from the sky!" He could honestly imagine Dorcas gesticulating wildly in order to communicate her point. How Dorcas had translated slush into arm and hand motions was beyond Terry, but he supposed her exclamation meant that Sirius had finally arrived.

"Dorcas, that's called sleet," Sirius corrected, sounding amused.

Terry stood and walked into the other room. Barty was trying to become one with the couch in an attempt to avoid Sirius's notice. Terry grinned. Some things never changed, although he would have to talk to Sirius in order to get him to stop threatening to kill Barty. They were working together now, whether either of them liked it or not. Dorcas looked completely disgruntled, apparently dissatisfied with Sirius's explanation, while Sirius was obviously trying not to laugh. "Sorry, Dorcas, but I may have to agree with Sirius," Terry admitted, leaning against the doorframe. Addressing Sirius, he asked, "How've you been?"

"Fine. You?" Sirius replied. The curtness of his response actually made Terry feel a little nervous. Was Sirius still angry with him? He had a right to be, and Terry would be the first one to admit it, but he really hoped Sirius wasn't anymore. Maybe Sirius had picked up on Terry's nervousness, because he smiled and continued, "You seem to have healed up pretty well."

"Yeah, I have," Terry replied hesitantly. He did not want to talk about himself.

"So, people, why don't we get down to business now that the gang's all here?" Dorcas asked, looking far too cheerful to discuss how to kill one of the most powerful wizards of the century. At the lack of reaction, she continued, "Barty, stop hiding behind the couch."

"Fuck you, Meadowes."

"Language, language, Barty," Dorcas replied airily. Sirius looked vaguely amused, so she continued, specifically addressing him, "And please no death threats until we've settled business? I think Terry might blow a gasket if we ruin the carpet."

"Blood is so dreadfully difficult to get out," Terry agreed, in slightly better humor.

"Yeah. I unfortunately can attest to that," Sirius muttered. He shook his head and asked, "So, White, you figured everything out yet? Or are we not going to get the whole story this time?" As an afterthought, Sirius added, "And we're still down a weapon, aren't we?"

Terry grimaced. "Well, yeah. I mean, I assumed that we're going to take a sword out of the Black family's Gringotts vault, so I haven't done any research on that matter," he replied. "What I have realized is that nothing short of a raid will get us close enough to relieve the snake of its head." At the confused looks on everyone's faces, Terry explained, "The snake. You know, Voldemort's pet? We need to kill it, because it's a horcrux. Didn't I tell you this?"

Sirius nodded and replied, "Yeah. You did. However, have you noticed recently that we are four, and the Death Eaters are many? We can't just walk into their headquarters and kill the snake, especially if Voldemort himself is present. Unless, of course, one of us is willing to go on a suicide mission." Sirius shot a meaningful look in Barty's direction.

"No. You can't make me, Black!" Barty exclaimed. "Look, I'm willing to do everything else, but I signed up to avoid kicking the bucket, not get a one-way ticket to hell!"

"So you do admit that you're destined for the inferno?" Sirius asked, a superior grin plastered on his face. Terry had hoped that the argument would have at least waited until they had finished up the discussion about the horcruxes. Alas, he put too much faith in his brother and best friend to accomplish that obviously impossible goal.

"_Anyway_, we need to talk about how to get our hands on the Gaunt ring and how to destroy the piece of Voldemort's soul in the final horcrux without killing the vessel," Terry resumed, wondering if even admitting the second part in the roundabout way he had would distract Sirius from arguing with Barty.

"Why can't we destroy the final horcrux?" Dorcas asked. At least someone was listening.

"Because he needs to kill Voldemort," Terry admitted quietly. "Irony's a bitch, huh?"

"Wait, _what_?" Sirius demanded, probably having only heard the second half.

"If you had been listening and not trying to figure out how to kill Barty without getting tried for murder, you would already know what the problem is, wouldn't you?" Dorcas declared, looking rather ticked off at Sirius.

"I heard the entire thing," Sirius snapped at Dorcas. Turning to White, he demanded, "What do you mean, Harry's the final horcrux? How in the name of Merlin is that possible? Wouldn't Voldemort not want to kill him, then? I mean, how did you draw that conclusion?"

"Sirius, think about it. Voldemort killed Lily, who died to save Harry. Harry therefore was protected by blood magic when Voldemort tried to kill him," Terry began. Sirius of all people should have understood. "However, to create a horcrux, you have to kill someone, right? Well, he meant to kill Harry, but the curse ended up rebounding and hitting him. I believe that Voldemort inadvertently created a horcrux because of it. Fuck, if the curse scar wasn't proof enough, hasn't Harry been having weird dreams about a dark corridor and feeling the wrong emotions at the wrong times? It all points to a link between him and Voldemort."

A dark look crossed Sirius's face, but he broke down and admitted, "I was afraid of that." He shook his head and said, "Look, White, I shouldn't have snapped, but, fuck, I don't know. I was just hoping that I was wrong." He paused before asking, "No one's told him, right?"

"No. I'm not going to, and I don't think Dumbledore would before the opportune moment," Terry replied, trying not to sound bitter. He understood the headmaster's reasoning, agreed with it to a great degree, but he couldn't reconcile himself with sending a teenager off to their death. Terry just couldn't. Trying to change the subject, Terry mentioned, "Look, aside from that, everything else is pretty much squared away, you know?"

Sirius looked displeased, but he let Terry's manouvre slide. "We're getting the sword from the vault, and the cup from the other vault, right?" Sirius recapped. "So, what about this ring? The Gaunts, you said it belonged to? Didn't they die out by the fifties?"

"One's still alive," Terry grumbled morosely. Sirius nodded, taking the statement as he was intended to. It took Barty slightly longer to realize whom he meant.

"Who?" Dorcas asked, sounding mostly confused. She seemed to realize who they were talking about and said, "Oh, him. Great. Does Tommy ever do anything we approve of?" Barty twitched when Dorcas used her pet name for the Dark Lord. Did Terry blame him? No.

"No, not to date," Sirius replied, seeming to have actually considered the question.

"Thought so," Dorcas said. Turning to Terry, she commanded, "Continue."

"Right. So, the Gaunt ring is in Little Hangleton. I don't think we'll have much trouble with it, seeing as we only need to search a house," Terry continued. "It's probably cursed or has some sort of monstrous defense, because otherwise we would have no trouble whatsoever accessing it. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about the locket."

"Speaking of the locket, when are we going to destroy it?" Sirius asked, probably of the opinion that the sooner they destroyed the horcruxes, the sooner they could stop worrying about them. Terry, of course, was far more hesitant. There was no reason to destroy them one at a time. If they collected them all, then Voldemort could only sense that one piece of his soul was destroyed. Probably. That was, of course, assuming that he could sense his soul being destroyed in the first place. Something else Terry and Sirius disagreed on. Sirius argued that Voldemort couldn't sense what he didn't have. Terry preferred to take a more cautious approach.

"Later," Terry replied, not wanting to start an argument about who knew more about the arcane. Sirius should know that he would lose. "Look, can't we just get one more before trying to destroy any? I mean, Voldemort would expect us to find cup first, so we need to steal that before we destroy any of the others. At that point, sure, we'll destroy the locket."

"Good. I want that shit out of my house," Sirius said. Terry was surprised, to tell the truth: Sirius had willingly claimed Grimmauld as his. "Don't make a wise crack, White."

"I wasn't going to," Terry replied automatically.

"Wait, why's this locket at Black's flat?" Barty asked, understandably confused. Terry may have neglected to tell Barty about certain things regarding the horcruxes, specifically that the entire reason there was a death sentence on Terry was because of them.

"Not that you have any right to know, Crouch, it's at Grimmauld. You can guess why," Sirius informed him, glaring. Terry again wished his brother got on better with his friend. He wasn't sure how much of the bickering he could take. This was nowhere near annoying, but Terry knew that if they started to argue in earnest, it would never end.

Barty glared back at Sirius, but he left it at that. Granted, Barty did send a confused look Terry's way, so Terry would probably explain later, but he was not going to now. "Can we keep the peace for a little longer?" Terry asked them, slightly fed up. "You're reminding me of five-year-olds. It's not exactly a flattering comparison."

"I dunno. I'd put Sirius at about seven," Dorcas commented. She wasn't helping.

"Fine," Terry said, starting to become completely frustrated with all of them. "Okay, fine. So we're going to go rob Gringotts, grab a sword, and destroy stuff, right? Let's go then."

Dorcas winced, realizing she had said the exact wrong thing, and Barty continued to look slightly bored. Sirius, on the other hand, looked slightly guilty and said, "Look, White, I didn't mean that we should be hasty, but…" He grimaced and mentioned, "Well, I just want to get everything over with. We don't know that Voldemort can sense the horcruxes."

"Exactly, Sirius! We don't know! He might be able to! He might even be able to sense where they are!" Terry exclaimed. Dammit, didn't Sirius understand?

"If he could tell, then wouldn't he know that Potter's one?" Barty interjected, not really trying to break up the argument. He just didn't want Sirius to have an excuse to punch him in the face. Also, since when had Barty started taking Sirius's side?

Serious for once, Dorcas agreed, "Yeah, from the way it sounds, Voldemort doesn't know about Harry being a horcrux. If he did, he'd be less interested in killing him, right? So, maybe Voldemort can't sense the horcruxes." Sirius was about to rub the fact everyone was agreeing with him in Terry's face, but Dorcas continued, "However, Terry's right. Voldemort might be able to tell if a horcrux is destroyed. I vote we just destroy the cup this time and see what happens. If Voldie flips a shit, then we make like very expensive cars and speed to get the ring before he can hide it. If he doesn't notice, then we destroy the horcruxes as we find them."

"But how long a waiting period could we use?" Sirius demanded, sarcasm starting to seep into his voice. "It's not like we're crunched for time or the Death Eaters are breathing down our necks. Snape said at the last Order meeting that they're planning something. I don't want to find out what." Reluctantly, he asked, "What do you think, White?"

"We stick to the schedule. If, by the next Order meeting, Voldemort hasn't noticed that a horcrux—the cup, I would hope—is gone, then I suppose we could destroy the rest," Terry agreed with an equal amount of reluctance that his brother showed in asking his question.

"There's a schedule?" Barty murmured, not quite surprised.

"Yeah. It's color-coded and everything," Dorcas informed him. "I got to pick the colors."

"Dorcas, stop lying to Crouch. You'll only confuse him more," Sirius muttered. With a sigh, he threw a vial at Barty, who barely caught it before it hit the floor. Terry wondered if he should have warned Sirius about Barty's rather spectacularly bad depth perception. "Well, congratulations, Crouch. You're coming with us to Gringotts."

"It's Polyjuice Potion!" Dorcas chirped. Turning to Sirius, she demanded, "Do I get any? Can I pretend to be your cousin? That would be brilliant! Also, can we escape on the dragon?"

Terry felt a headache coming on and asked, "Sirius, please tell me you found the key?"

"Yeah. Don't worry," Sirius replied casually. "Oh, and, Crouch, sorry about the disguise. I had to ask Snape to make the potion, so I'm not quite sure it'll turn out all right. I had to tell him I needed it for Dorcas so he wouldn't poison it. I hope you understand."

Barty stared at the vial for a moment before declaring, quite displeased, "This isn't Polyjuice, Black. How in the hell did you manage to—Please tell me you not actually have Snape reverse engineer this horror!"

"What do you mean?" Terry asked, slightly confused. The potion was purple, like—Polyjuice wasn't purple. The Potion-That-Must-Not-Be-Named was purple. "_Sirius_…"

"It's the perfect disguise, and Crouch can wander around London freely for a month or so without suspicion," Sirius explained quite rationally. "That said, you might want to tell your wife that the woman inhabiting your flat wasn't another woman but Crouch, but that's your call."

"I'd rather die than subject myself to that again," Barty declared. It would be his final word on the matter. Hell, Terry was surprised that Snape had been convinced to reverse-engineer the potion he had accidentally created as a first-year.

Surprisingly, Sirius laughed and said, "Calm down, Crouch. It is Polyjuice Potion. I just cast a little illusion charm on it." With a grin, he apologized, "Sorry, White, I couldn't help myself. And, Crouch, I'm really not kidding. It is Polyjuice." He tossed a second vial that was yellow to Dorcas and explained, "I'm pretty sure the supply will last for a couple hours."

Dorcas examined the vial and said knowingly, "You needed to keep track of which was which, didn't you?" With a little laugh of her own, she asked, "I take it the Order supplied our appearances? Was it just random people off the street, or am I going to turn into Fabian's sister?"

"Supposedly random bystanders," Sirius affirmed. "I don't think the world is ready for two Molly Weasleys, thank you very much." He feigned a shudder and continued in a more serious manner, "Anyway, Crouch, you're apparently going to bear an overwhelming resemblance to some actor. Dorcas, have fun looking like Tonks."

"I get to look like Tonksie?" Dorcas asked, actually sounding pretty excited.

"Yes, Dorcas, I'm pretty sure that's what she said. I dunno how that'll work, but we should get going, regardless," Sirius said. With a grin, he glanced at White and said, "After all, we don't want to waste any time, do we?"

"No, we don't," Terry replied with a wan smile. Both of them were past questioning Dorcas, as she skipped out of the flat dragging a very displeased Barty along with her.

Sirius tossed Terry his coat from the kitchen table. "C'mon, White. Let's get going," he said cheerfully. Terry hesitantly pulled on his jacket. Concerned, Sirius asked, "White, you all right?" Terry didn't reply immediately, so Sirius repeated, worried, "Really, are you all right?"

"Please stop asking me that, Sirius," Terry muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and hoped he didn't seem too out of it for Sirius's tastes. After all, they were about to rob Bellatrix's Gringotts vault with Dorcas and Barty. "I'm fine."

Sirius grimaced and seemed about to put his hand on Terry's shoulder but refrained from doing so. "Terry, I'm sorry. I'm just worried, all right?" he apologized softly.

"I know, Sirius," Terry said, trying not to be short with his brother, "Can we go now?"

Sirius still looked concerned, but he smiled, trying to be reassuring, and replied, "Okay. I guess we shouldn't leave Dorcas and Crouch alone too long, should we? God only knows what they'd get up to when left to their own devices…"

Terry really wished his brother wasn't quite so ridiculous. He hadn't needed that particular mental image. With a sigh, he said, "Sirius, please never speak again."

"And deprive myself of the chance to embarrass you? Never."

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Sirius, Regulus, Dorcas, and Barty go to Gringott's.  
_


	44. Money For Nothing

Sirius was far from amused. White seemed either to share his sentiments or just felt like he was going to vomit. Dorcas was having a ball, even if Crouch looked to be the most disgruntled of all of them. Of course, Sirius had to admit that the goblin did not seem to be enjoying sitting next to Dorcas, who was practically dancing in her seat. Sirius, in his infinite wisdom, had sat in between Crouch and White, who was indeed looking very nauseated. "Chrissakes, White! If you're going to vomit, would you at least do me the honor of puking downwind?" Sirius exclaimed. Face very pale, White glared at Sirius and doubled over, trying to steady his breathing. Sirius filed it in the back of his mind that White was easily motion-sick, and they hadn't even hit the dragon's roost yet.

"…and then they made me their king," Dorcas said, concluding her story.

"Fascinating," the goblin said flatly. He reminded Sirius of Jeeves. Henceforth, Sirius would refer to the goblin as Jeeves. He kind of hoped that White remembered the actual name of the goblin. Sirius hadn't been paying attention, because Crouch had been acting spastic. Sirius had made the mental note to ease Crouch into social situations in the foreseeable future. (It hadn't helped that Crouch looked almost exactly the same, even if he insisted there was something amiss with his cardiovascular system.)

Also, apparently Tonks had been in some sort of a bizarre mood, because Dorcas looked like a blond shop-girl. The eldest Weasley boy had been rightfully confused when the four had walked into Gringotts. After all, Sirius had made half of an attempt to look decent, and White was wearing a trenchcoat over a suit, but Crouch looked respectable except for his hair and sneakers, and Dorcas behaved like she waltzed off a spaceship from another planet.

"Why did they make you their king? Meadowes, you're female," Crouch pointed out.

Sirius braced himself against the cart as the rail took a plunge, hoping that White wasn't going to vomit in the cart. He could ruin Sirius's favorite pair of shoes. His only pair of shoes, to be honest. White didn't seem fond of the idea of barfing on his own shoes, either, and suddenly straightened up and leaned over the side of the cart. All Sirius could think was that there had better be no carts behind them, especially as he heard White retch. Granted, Dorcas was whooping with joy as they continued to head down into the depths of the bank. Not for the first time, Sirius wished that the Black family vault was not quite so far below sea-level.

"Does it matter, sir?" the goblin asked Crouch in return, obviously already fed up with the four humans with whom he was stuck in the cart. He stopped the cart abruptly, inducing White to lose what little was left of his breakfast. The goblin looked at White in disgust and stepped out of the cart, shaking his head. At the door to the vault, the goblin turned around and raised an eyebrow at the vomiting wizard, the Death Eater, the former prisoner of Azkaban, and Dorcas. Thoroughly bored, the goblin asked, "You _would_ like to access the Black vault?"

"Yep," Dorcas answered for the four of them, jumping out of the cart and galloping over to the goblin. "We're retrieving some stuff," she explained to the goblin. "You see, it was necessary to come to Gringotts to retrieve things, because if we didn't, then I can never go back to my people. It would be quite depressing, because they count on me to be their king."

"Meadowes, please stop babbling about your kingdom in the mists. Everyone here knows it doesn't exist," Crouch grumbled. Sirius slapped him upside the head. "What, Black? It's true!" Crouch protested. He ducked in the nick of time to avoid getting slapped again.

White managed to stumble out of the cart but collapsed onto his knees a couple steps away. "Sorry about that," he murmured, clearly feeling like he had just been in a training device for the space program. Sirius stepped onto the ledge and put a hand on White's shoulder. White glanced up and said, "Sirius, I'm fine. I'm just a little nauseous." He wasn't very convincing.

"If you say so," Sirius replied, restraining himself from tripping Crouch as he jumped onto the ledge. White really did resemble his last name at the moment, but, idiot that he was, he tried to stand. Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

"Thanks," White murmured. When he was mostly steady, he walked over to the wall. Sirius followed and handed his key to the goblin, who wisely chose not to comment. Sirius felt that the goblin deserved some compensation for dealing with the lot of them. Maybe he'd give the bank one of the swords back. Of course, if he did that, they might take it as an invitation to retrieve all of them. Sirius certainly did not want to lose everything in the vault.

"Would Lord Black prefer if his… associates waited outside?" the goblin inquired. Sirius could tell that behind the goblin's façade, he considered Sirius and the rest to be completely brainless. Judging by Dorcas's anecdotes and Crouch's lack of departure from the traditional (completely barking) pureblood affectation, Sirius didn't quite blame the goblin.

"No," Sirius replied. "I'm going to need their help with what I'm retrieving."

The goblin nodded and said, "Very well, sir," before opening the door. Sirius watched, feeling slightly embarrassed, as the door to the vault opened. He glanced back at Dorcas to see that she had managed to look even more ridiculous as she gaped like a fish. Crouch actually seemed impressed by the contents. On a completely unrelated topic, White looked a bit less nauseous. Regardless, White wasn't surprised that the vault looked like something between an armory and a treasury.

"Thank you," Sirius said to the goblin as he passed him walking into the vault. Sirius walked past the Ming-Dynasty vase and turned left at the statue of Sekhmet. White followed him a little more slowly, which was probably unwise, seeing as he almost turned right instead of left at the statue of the leonine goddess of war. If they had been looking for the more arcane books in the Black library, White would have been going the right way. However, they were indeed looking for the weapons.

Dorcas wandered into the vault and looked around. She was probably struck by the amount of random shit the family had picked up over the millennia. There was a very good reason that the art was up front. It would confuse the Ministry long enough for the family to secret away the books and the weapons. The Dark objects would be the third to be taken. After all, the Ministry couldn't be trusted with the weapons, and Sirius honestly didn't put it past some people to burn the books. The most dangerous books were hidden in this vault.

Crouch was intent on being an asshole, however, and mentioned, "Color me impressed, Black. I didn't expect a family such as yours to appreciate the finer things in life." Sirius took solace in the fact that Crouch obviously had no idea which direction to go in order to find them.

"You should see the wine collection," White muttered behind Sirius, having finally caught up. Sirius raised an eyebrow, and White explained, "I was wandering around Grimmauld before the meeting started that last time. I think a bottle or two may have turned to vinegar."

Sirius accepted the explanation and shouted back at Crouch and Dorcas, "Whatever you do, don't touch anything! Everything's cursed!" Hell, he should have told all three of the others that before they stepped foot in the vault. Most of the art had the standard burn-inducing and multiplication anti-theft curses on them, but the weapons and books had some rarer methods to deter would-be larcenists. "And whatever you do, don't touch the gold! You'll turn into an ass!"

"But that won't affect Barty!" Dorcas shouted back. Sirius had to stifle a grin, because White seemed entirely unamused. He rolled his eyes and walked past Sirius in order to examine the collection of swords displayed in the center of the vault.

Sirius sighed and joined White in examining the sword collection. It was as bad as he had expected, to be frank. Half the swords were unusable right out off the bat. Half of the rest were too far too Dark for Sirius's tastes. He started looking at the lances. They were unwieldy, yes, but a lance would be quite amusing to wander around with. White rolled his eyes and stepped forward to examine the swords more closely. Sirius noticed White was more interested in the older weapons as opposed to those …acquired in the recent past.

Barty and Dorcas wandered over after avoiding the minefield that comprised the contents of the Black family vault. Dorcas's eyes widened and she said, "By Merlin, you have a sword in a stone, too? Well, the Black family as a whole has gone up in my esteem."

"It's just for show," Sirius grumbled. They couldn't use that sword, in any case. The family had paid good money back in the day to place that sword in that rock. It was a dangerous weapon. Sirius had never really wanted to know whose sword it had been, even if Regulus had soaked up all of the family lore. Sirius noticed that White was avoiding touching anything, so Sirius said, "White, go ahead. As head of the Black family, etc., you have my permission to rifle through the weapons collection and the books, if you so wish."

White nodded and picked up one of the swords Sirius had been considering. He mentioned, "I don't think we're going to have an easy time of this, Sirius. You might want to give permission to Dorcas and Barty. We'll be able to go through the collection a lot more quickly." With a sigh, White set down the spatha and muttered, "Damn. It has a tri-fold augmentation charm on it. Useful in battle, but…"

"It'll make the horcruxes stronger?" Dorcas suggested, admiring the crossbows.

"Yeah, essentially," Sirius replied, trying to ignore the impulse to check and see if the great-sword was in fact one that they could use. He gave permission to the other two to look around the weapons collection, but he warned them not to touch the weapons unless they absolutely needed to. Sirius picked up a scimitar and rejected it immediately (there was a djinn inhabiting the blade). He was glad to see that Crouch was hesitant to touch anything, and Sirius was actually surprised that Dorcas wasn't going all touchy-feely on the collection.

White picked up the weapon next to the sword in the rock. It was in the same style as the sword it rested next to but had obsidian laid in the cross-guard. The locket and chape of the accompanying scabbard were capped with jet, and the pommel of the sword was carved from the same stone and inlaid with silver. It was a handsome sword, to be honest, but Sirius doubted it would be a possibility. White seemed to be considering it, however.

"What's that carved over the dent-thingy going down the blade of that sword, Terry?" Dorcas asked, distracted for a moment from the halberds. "I mean, I think I can read it. It's Latin, right? I've never been too good with other languages, but it has something to do with light?"

"_Fiat lux_," White read. He shook his head and translated, " 'Let there be light.' "

"Black family irony," Sirius explained. Dorcas raised an eyebrow, so Sirius continued, "Back in ye olden days, the time of the Founders, I had an ancestor named Lucifer. Apparently he had a sense of humor. That, or he was a megalomaniac. Jury's still out on that one." The only reason Sirius remembered that bit of useless information was that Regulus had been unable to make sense of the fact that someone had named their child Lucifer.

Crouch, who had been examining the archery collection, shook his head and declared, "Black, we're going to need a sword. It's the only kind of weapon here that would approach inconspicuous. Also, I doubt the vast majority of them will be useful for our purposes." He glanced at the sword collection and asked, "It's arranged according to spell type? Or the amount of danger the wielder is in?"

"Spell type and danger level," Sirius replied. Crouch wasn't an idiot, Sirius would give him that, but Sirius didn't like him any better. "It's a lot more complicated than it looks, Crouch. Yeah, there's the obvious patterns, but it's also arranged by other, ridiculous factors," Sirius explained, hoping he didn't get a headache from dealing with the others.

Crouch rolled his eyes and decided to check the sword collection for himself. White sheathed the obsidian-inlaid sword and tossed it to Sirius. "What do you think?" he asked. To be honest, Sirius didn't want to use the sword regardless of whether or not it fit the parameters.

Thankfully, Sirius found a reason to cross it off the list. "Can't, White," he said, hoping he did not sound too eager to eliminate the sword. "It has necromantic properties," Sirius said quickly. "It could interfere with the horcruxes' auras, and I would bet anything that Voldemort would be able to sense if this sword was used on parts of his soul, connected or not."

"I'll take your word for it," White said, crossing the room and taking the sword back from Sirius. He frowned and murmured, "I thought it might have been a winner. Why couldn't I tell the sword was connected with the dead? I'm usually good at this…" With a sigh, he replaced the sword and scabbard to their place in the display.

"Why aren't we looking at the Excalibur wanna-be?" Crouch cut in. He was standing next to the sword, having done a preliminary examination. Aware he was suddenly the center of attention, Crouch continued nervously, "I mean, I can't see anything wrong with it. It doesn't have any useful augmentations, but I assume we don't give a damn about that sort of thing."

Sirius sighed and walked over to the stand. After taking the scabbard, he drew the sword out of the rock. Sirius looked it over and checked for any curses Crouch would not have known could be on it. He didn't find anything wrong with the sword, and as Crouch said, there were not any spells cast on the blade. It had good balance, too. The sword could have been mistaken for a plain, unadorned sword from the end of the first millennium AD if not for the fact that on one side of the sword a flat, diamond-shaped slice of emerald was embedded where the hilt met the guard. The owner of the sword had probably wanted something useful as opposed to extravagant. "I guess it works," Sirius admitted as he replaced the sword in its scabbard, trying to remember where the sword-belts were kept. "The blade's still sharp."

"I vote for the Very Functional Sword," Dorcas declared, examining the swords. "All of these are all jewel-encrusted or have flashy spells attached to them. I dislike that," she mused. With a laugh, she continued, "You guys ever seen Gryffindor's Sword? It's basically covered in rubies. I have no clue how it was ever useful. It pleases me with its shiny-ness, but you can't use it. At least the man who commissioned this sword had his head on straight."

White winced and inquired, "Can we not call it the Very Functional Sword?"

"Are we uncomfortable with the name?" Dorcas asked, quite pleased with herself.

To be honest, White certainly looked a little uncomfortable, but to his credit he managed to say, "Well, kind of. I mean, Dorcas, the way you say it…"

Dorcas rolled her eyes and declared, "Prude." Crouch snorted at that and made his way back toward the entrance. White was obviously embarrassed, and Dorcas laughed as she walked off. Sirius just wished Dorcas had been able to refrain from making innuendos until after lunch. Alas, she had found a not-so-willing subject to torment.

White shoved a sword-belt in Sirius's face. "It was on the other side of the room, Sirius," he explained at Sirius's exasperated look. "You need to pay more attention."

"White, are you crazy? That could have been blood-keyed, too!" Sirius exclaimed, snatching the belt away from White. Leaning the sword and scabbard against a nearby statue, Sirius put the belt on. He was not going to be carrying the sword around everywhere, and the belt was honestly more convenient. Attaching the scabbard to the belt, Sirius asked, "Do you even know what the blood-keyed spells could have done to you?"

"Yeah. Horrible effects happen because of nasty curses to people not supposed to touch the items in question," White said, waving it off. "I know. My parents impressed the importance of blood-keyed charms and curses to excess," White explained. "Honestly, I was afraid to touch anything in our family vault until I was in my third year at Hogwarts."

Sirius smiled wanly and ushered White out of the vault before he got any more ideas. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to ask White for the name of the goblin. As they arrived back at the cart, Sirius found that both Dorcas and Crouch had claimed seats in the back of the cart. The goblin handed Sirius his key back and, noticing the sword, said, "Ah, so the Black family is in possession of one of Ironhook's masterworks. It should have been returned a millennium ago."

Sirius smiled and nodded, choosing not to comment, as White scrambled into the cart. He ended up on the other side of the cart from where he sat the first time. That left Sirius to sit behind White. Dorcas and Crouch were going to pay for this, but Sirius took his seat without comment. The goblin then asked, "And to which vault are we going next?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange's dowry vault," Sirius answered, hoping Dorcas wouldn't want a side-trip to her vault. Sirius wasn't sure how much more he could take. If he were to look at the situation rationally, then he would admit that he could probably stand a couple more hours with the other three. Unfortunately, it didn't quite seem that White would be a very happy camper were they to take a ride to another vault. There was also the question of how much longer Crouch could keep himself from trying to murder Dorcas with something heavy and blunt.

"Oh my God! I just realized!" Dorcas exclaimed. Crouch tried to scoot away from her, but he just ended up making White uncomfortable because he was now pinned to the side of the cart. White looked vaguely nauseated again, even though they hadn't started to move.

"What is it, Dorcas?" Sirius asked, not particularly wanting to know the answer.

"You pulled the sword out of the stone! You're the Once and Future King!" Dorcas replied, grinning like a loon. Crouch obviously was very much starting to doubt the intelligence of sitting between Dorcas and White. Sirius could only just grin and bear it, although White seemed to want to hit his head against a wall.

The goblin put in helpfully, "Sir? I would not worry. I have heard that people such as your acquaintance become more bearable after the first fifty years."

Sirius was not reassured.

* * *

Barty wished they had left him back at the flat. The entire venture would have been less troublesome had they done so. Black was acting par for the course, but Meadowes had decided to be twice as batty as usual. More importantly, Reg should have sat this one out. When had he started to be motion-sick? Hell, at Hogwarts, Reg's mental health had been called into question because of his idiot stunts on the Quidditch pitch. Reg would never have played professionally, but he had been known for pulling off suicidal manouvres back in the day. The point was that Reg was not known for getting motion sickness.

Of course, it wasn't like Barty could ask Reg about it. Sure, Black was around, which always complicated things. The real problem was that Reg was pulling his silent act. Barty knew he shouldn't have, but he had tried to talk to Reg about what had happened. Now Reg was trying to shut Barty out, which Barty had to admit was what he deserved for prying. Black was obviously worried, too, so Barty didn't feel too bad about his behavior. After all, Black didn't recognize Reg as his brother, so if he was worried, then there was a reason to be worried.

Black and Meadowes were looking inside the vault, because Barty had actually managed to convince them to let him look after Reg while he barfed again. The goblin, Marphang, was paying more attention to what Black and Meadowes were doing as opposed to staring disapprovingly at Reg's current ailment. Nauseated, Reg was doubled over on the ground with one arm supporting him and the other folded across his abdomen. Barty was kneeling next to his friend with his hand on Reg's back.

"God, I hate Gringotts," Reg muttered as he was curled up. He didn't look quite as pale as he had when they had stopped to search the Black family vault. Reg glanced towards the entrance to his cousin's vault and asked, "How long have they been in there?"

"Only about five minutes, Reg," Barty replied, checking his watch. He and Dorcas were about due for another shot of Polyjuice in a quarter of an hour. It would probably be a good idea for him to delay Reg from moving around too quickly. "So, um, why are you so prone to barfing at the moment?" Barty asked. "You're the one that thought the Wronski Feint should be a typical Quidditch manouvre. The motion sickness doesn't make sense."

"First time I was here, I leant forward in the cart. Let's just say that was a bad idea. I only get like this on roller coasters and things. It's… I dunno," Regulus admitted. He winced and continued, "I don't fly much anymore, either. I wasn't really meant to in the first place, I guess."

Barty furrowed his eyebrows and said, "Reg, the only thing you did more than fly was study. Granted, most of your time was spent studying, but you spent the rest of your free time on the Quidditch pitch." They both knew that Reg hadn't actually been practicing, but Reg never wanted anyone to know he spent so much time alone. The rest of Slytherin had thought he was weird enough without that little tidbit of information.

Reg smiled sadly and murmured, "Things change, Barty." He made to stand and shrugged off Barty's help when he was a little unbalanced. Looking vaguely dizzy, Reg made to walk toward the vault. Barty followed, but Reg said, "Hey, I'm just going to talk to Sirius for a moment. I think everyone's badgering might have been the good idea… Right? No, correct."

Barty considered the situation and escorted Reg back to the cart. "Why don't you sit down and wait here?" he suggested. Reg didn't even protest to the slightly patronizing tone Barty had accidentally adopted, which was a sign that he really wasn't feeling well. Barty continued, "I'm going to go get your brother. Let's hope he doesn't kill me." Reg nodded and curled up in the back of the cart, causing Barty to worry even more. He had wondered when Reg would fall ill. From what he had heard from the others, it was a bloody miracle that Reg hadn't caught something earlier, what with the frequency Reg seemed to be getting the shit kicked out of him.

With a sigh, Barty left Reg and walked into the vault in time to see Meadowes skip out. He ignored her and continued to search out Black. Barty found him looking at a horde of cups and understood Black's mood. "Hey, Black, White's not looking too well," Barty reported, hoping he didn't incur the wrath of Sirius. God forbid he gave Black the impression that he was an actual person as opposed to a two-dimensional asshole Black wanted to hate.

Black glanced over and informed him shortly, "I noticed. Why do you think I insisted he stay out there?" He seemed even more annoyed than he usually was, although Barty supposed that was because Black's hands seemed burned and a good number of the cups looked exactly the same. On the bright side, at least they knew what the horcrux looked like now.

"You didn't want him getting himself killed by your cousin's horde of cursed shit?" Barty suggested, glancing around a bit. Deciding it might be prudent to be less of a smart-ass today and desperate to change the subject, he asked idly, "One of those the horcrux?"

Glaring at Barty, who cringed a little from the glare, Black snapped, "You think?" before he turned his gaze on the offending cups. Personally, Barty thought the cup was ostentatious, but he had always thought Hufflepuff had no taste because of her house colors. Why yellow and black? The pattern of a color and a metal for the other three houses was completely broken unless black was symbolic of iron, in which case Hufflepuff was indeed the worst of the four houses. By that logic, however, Gryffindors would be the best, Slytherins would be known for their laziness and childishness, and Ravenclaws would be belligerent. Barty didn't agree with that. Therefore, Hufflepuff was either color-blind or got the short end of the stick.

"Well, I suppose if you've decided to avoid civility, I'll just go back to the cart and wait with White and Meadowes. They usually don't mind my company," Barty mentioned, belatedly realizing how stand-offish he sounded. Well, maybe Black wouldn't kill him for his verbal gaffe, but if Barty kept this up, his lifespan would be severely shortened.

"If you move, I will inform the Ministry _and_ Voldemort of your whereabouts," Black replied off-handedly. Well, Barty had managed to completely piss off his best friend's brother again. He doubted that Black would go through with the threat, but Barty didn't particularly want to find out. Black continued, "We need to have a discussion, and I suppose this is a good a place as any to have it."

Barty did not want to stay and chat, but he did not really have a choice in the matter. Black could and would curse him so he wouldn't move. "What in Merlin's name do we need to talk about?" Barty demanded. "It's not like I've done anything in the past decade to offend you."

"You exist," Black said coldly, probably unwittingly quoting Potter. "That's enough."

"So you're going to hate me for the rest of eternity because I was friends with your brother?" Barty demanded, a little stunned. That said, he had given Black cause in the past, so Black's statement was understandable, if completely uncalled for.

Black was silent for a moment before explaining eerily calmly, "You took advantage of him. Don't even try to deny it, Crouch. He had to put up with far too much shit because of you." If Black started to argue that it was Barty's idea to join the Death Eaters, Barty was not going to stay silent. Reg had suggested it, even if he had just been kidding.

Barty had to think in order to make sure he used the right tenses when he retorted, "Your brother was an adult, Black. He could think for himself! So Reg tended to take the easy way out whenever it was convenient, but it's not my fault that everything happened to him!"

Judging by the fact that Barty felt like the temperature had dropped about ten degrees in the room, Black was very angry. "It may not be your fault that he became a Death Eater, but you sure as hell are to blame for his low self-worth," Black growled.

Great. Black had already lowered himself into speaking in non sequiturs. Also, wasn't it pretty juvenile for him to be dredging up the past like this? Black still thought Reg was dead. Yes, it was perfectly reasonable for Black to loathe and despise Barty, but this conversation was not something to be expected fifteen years after the fact. "How the hell is that my fault, Black? I bloody tried to make sure he didn't go over the edge and kill himself or get himself killed," Barty countered. "Both were equally likely, as you should well know."

Disgusted, Black snorted and snapped, "As _you_ should know, he would never have done that." Barty disagreed. There was no question that if Reg had tried to kill himself, he would have succeeded, unless grey-eyed Pallas came down and stopped him. (Fine, not necessarily Athena, but a higher power would have had to intervene corporeally.) On the other hand, Barty did not put it past Reg to have forgotten a single, small detail and then after he covered up his suicide attempt, swore whoever stopped him to secrecy. That narrowed down the people to Severus, because Narcissa would have chastised Reg in the presence of Black, Black would have lost his temper in a very grand way, and very few other people would have stopped Reg.

To be honest, Barty wouldn't have put it past Reg's parents to simply let him off himself. Mr. Black had been generally oblivious to the rest of the world, and Mrs. Black had been fucking loopy. Reg might have always defended them, but Barty wasn't sure they were not worth defending. Hell, Barty's father took more interest in him than Mr. Black had ever taken in either of his sons. Also, Mrs. Black should have been in an insane asylum. "Right, and you just know everything about your brother, Black," Barty muttered. For that matter, Black was unbalanced.

"He did talk to me, Crouch, which is more than you can claim," Black replied flatly, finally just transfiguring some change in his pocket into gloves. "Regulus was scared. That was plain as day, but he would never have hurt himself like that."

"Who are you to say that was the case?" Barty demanded. Black barely spoke to Reg in the few years before Voldemort was initially defeated. The two of them obviously thought they had been closer than they actually were. "You talked to him, what, once a month if you remembered?" Barty reminded Black. "As I recall, 'talk' was a polite euphemism for shouting."

Barty thought he might have gone too far this time. Black had retrieved the real horcrux from the pile of duplicates (how he could tell which one was the real one was beyond Barty), but he seemed willing to use it in heretofore unconsidered applications to beat the shit out of Barty. Yes, Barty had indeed gone too far. Looking murderous, Black corrected darkly, "Not that it's any of your business, but I wrote to him as much as I could, so don't you bloody imply I didn't care! And it was fucking dangerous for him to even be seen with me! So don't you fucking imply I didn't care, because I bloody goddamn did!"

At that point, Black drew the sword. Barty considered praying for an epiphany, but Black dropped the horcrux and brought the sword down on it. It looked like there was only a shallow cut in the cup, but the sword slowly slipped through it like a warm knife through butter. Almost in two pieces, the cut edges of the cup looked like they had been melted. "Was that sword dipped in holy water, or something?" Barty wondered nervously, all too aware that he had angered the man armed with the very sharp sword.

Unexpectedly, Black muttered in reply, "Looks like it. I doubt the previous owner had access to a basilisk, but if he or she did, then the sword might have absorbed basilisk venom." Obviously uncomfortable with the weapon, Black put it back in its sheath. Taking a deep breath, he turned to glare at Barty and warned, "Look, Crouch, I know White is unwilling to turn you in, but if you step one toe out of line, you won't get a second chance, regardless of what he says."

Barty didn't doubt that Black would follow through on that threat. He nodded and said, "I'm well aware." Of course, if Reg really did beg Black not to kill or maim Barty, Black would probably listen. Probably. Was there any way to try and get Black not to hate him so much? Well, there was one, but playing that card with Black was like playing Russian roulette with a fully-loaded gun. After a pause, Barty mentioned carefully, "You do know I never meant to hurt your brother, right? He was my best friend. I loved him."

Black tensed, but he didn't do anything drastic. Slowly, he replied, obviously trying and failing to not sound bitter, "Yes, but the point is that you did hurt him and you didn't tell him why, which only made what you did worse. That is what I cannot forgive."

At that, Black turned on his heel and left the vault, leaving Barty to stand alone in Bellatrix's little stash of horrors. Maybe he did deserve Black's anger, but he was trying to change. Then again, if Reg could forgive him, why hadn't Black's anger dulled in the past decade or so? Barty sighed and walked out of the vault, taking the only available seat in the cart next to Marphang, who still looked quite displeased with his current duty of ferrying around some of the more insane members of pureblood society.

Reg managed to drift off or passed out sometime between leaving Bellatrix's vault and returning to street level. Meadowes didn't notice, mostly because she was too busy humming and not paying attention to the world around her. Black was likewise lost in thought, although Barty doubted his musings were anywhere near as bright as Meadowes's. That said, Black had noticed that Reg had passed out, because Reg was currently using his brother's shoulder as a pillow.

When the cart finally stopped, Meadowes jumped out and exclaimed, "Land!" Everyone ignored her, even the redhead who had initially been so surprised to see Black here. Barty noticed the time and realized he and Meadowes were due for another dose of Polyjuice. Surreptitiously, he took it, hoping no one had noticed. Granted, if they were ignoring Meadowes, the bank employees probably weren't paying attention to the four of them. The goblins probably didn't care at all, if Barty were to be honest.

As he stood next to Dorcas, who had decided to forego her disguise, Barty waited for Black to decide what to do with Reg. The younger of the Black brothers was apparently determined to remain asleep in the back of the cart. Trying to wake Reg was taking far too long for Black's tastes, so he just decided to hell with it and picked up his brother. After carrying Reg over to one of the benches in the lobby, Black sat down on the floor, presumably trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do next.

* * *

Dorcas found many things to be very relaxing. One of them was riding around the Gringotts vaults. Another was not sitting in a room with two of the most argumentative men she had ever met. Alas, she was, and she was the farthest thing from relaxed. Dorcas did take solace in the fact that they had dropped Barty off at the other flat so that Sirius would not be inclined to be violent, but the worried version of Sirius was about as impossible to deal with.

Actually, now that Dorcas considered it, a worried Sirius was far more difficult to deal with than an angry Sirius. After all, an easy way to deal with an angry Sirius would be to pick a fight with him so that he stopped arguing with whomever he was actually angry with. Unfortunately, placating a worried Sirius involved reassurances, and Dorcas was well aware that she did not perform well in the reassurances department. Her reassurances, at least in her own mind, tended to be on par with her healing spells. Neither were anything she could really shake a stick at. However, the point was that she currently had to deal with a nervous, worried Sirius.

A nervous, worried Sirius was the worst to deal with, in Dorcas's humble opinion. She knew how to deal with a depressed Sirius, which was to get him liquored up sufficiently to have him to talk about what was wrong. A similar protocol was followed when talking to a grieving Sirius, although Dorcas generally made sure someone else was stuck with Sirius-Watching Duty. Remus was a decent pick, but Dorcas was pretty sure that Artemesia would be the most effective these days, despite the fact that the Ravenclaw was lacking in the social interaction department.

In any case, Sirius was worried because Regulus wasn't well. Dorcas was not particularly happy to be witness to the current conversation, but Sirius unfortunately did have business to deal with, so Dorcas was going to be looking after Regulus until his wife came. Dorcas had phoned Regulus's wife and told her that he was fine while Sirius and Reggie had been talking. Vesta unfortunately couldn't come until after Sirius had left. Dorcas had felt that Vesta was very upset but she sounded as if she had been expecting Regulus to come down with something. Luckily, Regulus was only vaguely nauseous now, but he had a high temperature. Dorcas had a feeling that he just had the flu, but that diagnosis was not going to stop Sirius from flipping out.

"White, are you sure you're fine?" Sirius murmured, sitting on the coffee table again because Regulus had installed himself on the couch and refused to move. Sirius continued, "Look, I'm sorry, but I really do need to go soon because of my appointment."

Regulus sighed and nodded. "Yeah, it's fine, Sirius, really," he murmured. Dorcas knew she should have recognized that he hadn't been feeling well earlier. After all, he'd been so tired before Sirius had arrived at his flat. Barty had neglected to notice that Regulus was only making half as much sense as he usually did, but he had spent seven years living with him and was thus fluent in nonsense, so Dorcas supposed that was excusable. Obviously, Regulus had pulled himself together and been mostly all right until he had managed to lose his breakfast.

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows. Dorcas decided that Sirius couldn't quite bring himself to believe Regulus's response. She wasn't sure she could, either, to be honest. "White, if you start to feel worse, you'll tell Dorcas, right?" Sirius asked.

Regulus looked like he was starting to get a headache and answered, "Yes, Sirius, I will." The exchange reminded Dorcas of the good old times, when Sirius had been the poster boy for overprotective big brothers everywhere. Looking progressively more exhausted, Regulus continued, "Sirius, I'm fine. Really. You can leave to go to the appointment on a clear conscience. Besides, Vesta's supposed to come in half an hour or something."

Sirius was frowning. He obviously did not want to go, but he said, "Okay. Remember to take care of yourself, White, will you?" Regulus nodded, and Sirius ruffled his hair. Regulus, predictably, looked slightly indignant. Sirius grinned and said goodbye before leaving.

Regulus's mood became far more somber than it had been earlier in the day. Dorcas couldn't much blame him. From her point of view, Sirius was becoming very attached to the man he knew as Terry White. While glad his brother enjoyed his company, Regulus was upset because he was afraid he might be replaced in his brother's memory, even if it was by himself. It probably didn't help that Regulus overanalyzed every little detail and picked himself to pieces.

"Regulus?" Dorcas started, slowly padding over to the couch. Her friend didn't respond. He was staring out the window blankly. Worried, Dorcas sighed and sat down on the couch under Regulus's legs. He didn't seem to register her moving him, and if he did, he gave no sign. She considered trying to snap him out of it, but Dorcas figured that she should best leave well alone.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Regulus remembers when he joined the Death Eaters.  
_


	45. The Wrong Company

_Regulus was at home for the weekend, even though it was still Thursday and he had two classes in the morning. Mum and Dad had insisted that he take some time off. He didn't particularly think he needed a break. Classes had just started a couple weeks prior, so he wasn't too tired. Everything had been going great. And then there was that medwitch-in-training… Merlin, she was gorgeous. Alas, she was a couple years older than him and starting her residency, so it would be a miracle if she noticed him, but he could dream._

_ Despite the fact that he was home for the weekend, Regulus still had homework from both St. Mungo's and his classes at university. Meaning, he was misfortunate enough to need to write a lab report for organic chemistry and an essay on the uses of dragons' blood in conjunction with the search for the panacea. However, he had worked on the essay the night before, and he wasn't going to write the lab report until Sunday morning._

_ The point was that Regulus was lying on the couch in the parlor, reading the _Odyssey_. It had been a long time since he had read the story. He had considered reading the _Iliad_, but considering the current political situation Regulus had only become depressed at the thought. It was only about nine o'clock at night, but he was considering going to sleep already. It had been a while since he had had any sort of rest. It was understandable. He was still getting used to balancing his workload with practice and what little remained of his social life._

_ Now that he thought about it, Regulus was going to go to bed. He replaced the bookmark in the book and set it on the side table next to the couch. After standing and stretching, Regulus slowly made his way upstairs. When he finally reached his room, he collapsed onto the bed. It took a good deal of effort to get up and change before lying down again and falling alseep._

_ Regulus's rest was cut short when he woke up some hours later to the sound of the doorbell. Mum and Dad were due back some time after midnight, but they wouldn't have rung the bell. Very sleepy, Regulus dragged himself out of bed and made his way downstairs to the front door. There were only a few people who could have been at the door, so Regulus answered it. There was not a very long wait for him to realize it had been a mistake._

_ Bellatrix was leaning against the doorframe. She was slightly drunk, and Regulus wondered what the hell she wanted. "Hello, cousin," she said and waltzed through the entryway. Regulus rolled his eyes. What was she up to this time? The last time she had shown up at an odd hour of the night, Rudolphus had to come and drag her away._

_ "Bella, it's the middle of the night," Regulus said, displeased that he had woken thanks to his eldest cousin. He wasn't on the best terms with Bellatrix, but she was family, so he couldn't be completely short with her. "I was sleeping," he told her._

_ "That, dear cousin, was time misspent," Bellatrix informed him in return. She was examining the portrait of the family in the hall. Regulus knew she was disappointed in the fact that his parents did not take down the painting despite Sirius's presence in it. With a wicked grin on her face, Bellatrix declared, "You are going to come with me tonight."_

_ Regulus stared at her in confusion until he realized what she meant. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and said, "No." Looking down at the floor, he continued, "Bella, you know where my loyalties lie, and you know that I can't murder."_

_ Bellatrix raised an eyebrow and replied, "You are more than capable of casting spells to end a life, Reggie. You're training to be a Healer. If you know how to heal, you know how to kill." She took a step closer to him and tilted his face up to make eye contact. Regulus was none too sure he liked the look in her eyes. Bellatrix murmured, "Your loyalties are with the family, Regulus, so tell me how exactly you aren't cut out to be a Death Eater? You're the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. It is your duty to fight."_

_ "No, Bella," Regulus declared vehemently. This line was not one he was going to cross. He would not be a Death Eater. He took a step back from her. Bellatrix was not going to intimidate him into this. As forcefully as he could, Regulus said, "I will not. I cannot in good conscience join Voldemort. Bella, I can't kill, and what use is a noncombatant?"_

_ Bellatrix looked down at him, and Regulus couldn't help but feel a little scared of her. Of the five cousins, she had the worst temper. What made matters worse was that she was still a good couple of inches taller than him. "Reggie, this wasn't an invitation," she reminded him as she took another step closer. Regulus noted that he didn't have much space between himself and the wall anymore. Bellatrix continued, "You have your orders."_

_ Biting his lip, Regulus tried to explain, "Look, Bella, I really can't. I'd lose my position in the program if I missed too much class or if my grades… Please, Bella. I can't do this. I'd be kicked out of the medical school if the Ministry found out I joined the—the Death Eaters."_

_ Laughing, Bellatrix corrected, "The Ministry can't find its collective ass with both hands, much less figure out what the Dark Mark means." Regulus begged to differ. Sirius had mentioned that either the DMLE had finally figured out what the Mark meant or the Department of Mysteries had known about it since the beginning of the Death Eaters. Regulus couldn't remember properly, but the point was that not everyone in the Ministry was clueless._

_ Regulus realized that there was really only one way out of this discussion. Hoping he wasn't unconsciously betraying his unease, he said, "Bellatrix, I am not going with you. Nothing you say can make me change my mind. I will not become a servant of Voldemort, so please leave this house in peace." So he had gone a little weak at the end. It would not have done to completely alienate her. After all, she would just go and tell Mum when he wasn't there to defend his actions. He was pretty sure Mum didn't want him joining up, anyway._

_ "Oh," Bellatrix murmured, disappointed. Regulus breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to go. He would have to apologize in the morning for his conduct, but he was fine with that. She was probably just acting on the alcohol in any case. "Words won't work, cousin?" Bellatrix continued in a tone Regulus did not like in the least. Wasn't she leaving? Why wasn't she leaving? "I had hoped I would be able to convince you without resorting to force."_

_ "What?" he breathed. She had to be kidding; she just had to be. Bellatrix wouldn't try to strong-arm him into something he did not believe in. She could be disowned if she actually did cause him to get himself killed in the war. "What are you talking about?" he asked nervously._

_ "I always knew you were too much like your brother," Bellatrix mused as she took her wand out of one of her robe's pockets. Regulus tensed, knowing she was deadly serious about her agenda. He wouldn't make it to the stairs, and even if he could, Regulus wasn't so sure he would be able to make it all the way to his room to retrieve his wand. Bellatrix was taller than him and presumably faster as well. She could catch up with him. "It really is a pity that he turned blood traitor, Reggie," she continued, moving so she was between Regulus and the stairs._

_ There went his escape plan. "Sirius is doing what he thinks is right," Regulus murmured, starting to wish he had not been so bold. Bellatrix had always been one for punishing others, but she thankfully was most lenient on her sisters and cousins. Andromeda had never taken anything from Bellatrix, but Narcissa was like a willow in the wind. Sirius seemed to have an iron will, but Regulus knew there were holes in his armor that a battleship could pass through. As for himself, Regulus couldn't stand up to Bellatrix properly even if he tried. Now she was going to hurt him for the attempt. Hopefully, she would go easy, but she was drunk and trying to convince him to join the Death Eaters. Regulus would not be able to. If he joined, he would die, simple as that._

_ "But are you, Reggie?" Bellatrix asked sweetly._

_ Regulus swallowed, nervous. If he said the wrong thing, she wouldn't kill him, but she could make his life very unpleasant without resorting to violence. Unfortunately, the crux of the matter was that Regulus wasn't sure. He didn't think he had enough experience or enough knowledge to know what was right. Sirius had it easy, seeing things in more of a dichotomy. Regulus couldn't see things that easily. What he did know was that if he went with Bellatrix and had the Dark Mark branded onto his arm, he would forever close a door he did not want shut. Pledging one's will to Voldemort meant a lifetime of service or a painful death, and that kind of demand scared Regulus. On top of it all, Sirius would hate him, and Regulus really would not be able to bear that. Dying would be far more enjoyable. As calmly as he could, Regulus replied, "Bella, I'm not ready to commit myself to anything." She did not look pleased, so he tried to argue, "Besides, it's not like I would turn away anyone that was injured. Isn't it better to have a loosely allied healer at your service instead of just more cannon fodder?"_

_ "We already have healers, little cousin," Bellatrix reminded him almost gently, like she was dealing with a small child instead of an adult. Well, not an adult. Regulus wouldn't go that far, but he definitely was not a child anymore. She put her hand on his shoulder, probably trying to be reassuring, and said, "Please, Reggie, don't make me do something I would rather not."_

_ He could not say yes. Sirius would hate him forever, and no amount of begging for forgiveness on Regulus's part would ever change his older brother's mind. The alternative was whatever Bellatrix would rather not do to him. If she just had to rough him up a little, there was no question, but if she were under much stricter orders, the alternative to acquiescing might be worse than joining the Death Eaters. "Bella…" Regulus started, but he still had no clue how to continue. Bellatrix's grip on his shoulder tightened, making Regulus whimper slightly and continue, "Please, Bella, I don't know. I—I just can't deal with this right now."_

_ Bellatrix's expression hardened, and she said steely, "You don't want to be a Death Eater." Regulus didn't know why he felt guilty, but he did regardless and lowered his gaze to the floor. He shouldn't have to want to please her. Regulus really did not want to follow her down this path. Even Mum had noticed that Bellatrix was slowly losing her mind. To be honest, Dad had been pushing to adjust the wards for years so Bellatrix couldn't come over to the house uninvited. With a frustrated sigh, Bellatrix muttered, "It just had to be this way, didn't it?"_

_ Regulus tensed and said placatingly, "Bella, no. I'm not saying no. I'm just saying I can't join _now_. There's a lot of stuff going on right now, and I just need some time to adjust, Bella. Please. That's all I'm asking for. I just need time."_

_ She did not believe him and pushed him against the wall. "Regulus, don't do this," Bellatrix warned, her nails painfully digging into his shoulder. "I would rather not have to tell Aunt Walburga that you've gone the same way as your good-for-nothing brother. She may not approve of the way I deal with the situation, but the family would be better off."_

_ Regulus knew he probably looked as terrified as he felt, but he was pretty sure that his cousin had just threatened to kill or maim him if he didn't join the Death Eaters. Bellatrix's hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, and as she tightened her grip, he gasped, "Please, Bella, don't!" He still had some time left before he fell unconscious, but Regulus did not want Bellatrix to be left with complete control over him. He wanted to wake up, after all. Black spots dancing in his vision, he pleaded, "Bella… Please, stop… can't breathe…"_

_ "That's the point, cousin," Bellatrix informed him coldly, not loosening her grip in the slightest. He tried to pry her hand off his throat, but he was already too weak and too tired to make a decent attempt. His vision darkened for what seemed like a moment before the nice, warm feeling of the Imperious curse took hold of him. Of course, Bellatrix deigned to cancel the spell just in time for Regulus to come to terms with the fact he was locked in the bathroom on the first-floor hallway and surrounded by spiders._

_ They were everywhere. On the ceiling, the walls, the floor, probably even the door. Knowing Bella, she'd probably stuck one to the handle. Regulus let out a nervous laugh. There was nothing funny about the situation. Oh, God, was something on his leg? Could he even bear to swat it off? No, there really was something moving, and he couldn't bring himself to check. Frozen in terror, he could only sit there, staring at a blank spot on the wall, trying to ignore the fact he was surrounded by the creatures he feared most. He was afraid of hyperventilating, because he might breathe one in or back up into one. That would be worse than having it crawl over him, with the walking and the eight legs and the eyes… Oh, God, he would not be able to deal with getting entrails all over him. It didn't matter if it was dead._

_ One of the big ones was slowly making its way down the wall, and Regulus found he couldn't keep his eyes off of it. It was too furry and the legs were too long. It was going to reach the floor, and then if it came near him… No, he couldn't just sit there, but there was the one on his leg and the two on his back, and if he didn't move then maybe they'd leave, but he really doubted it, because they wouldn't stop moving, and the big one was still coming down. What if it fell? What if it fell on him? Was it just him or were the other spiders moving away from that one?_

_ All of a sudden, he realized something had just fallen onto his arm. He had to ignore it; he had to. He could not look at his arm, no matter how much he felt the legs moving or the… He looked. Even though it was a small one (it was all right to look at the small, terrifying hell-creature, because the bloody huge one had made it to the floor, and one of those that had been on his back was crawling on his neck, and there was no way in hell he was going to acknowledge the fact that he was blocking out even more surrounding him), he recognized it for what it was, red hourglass and all. Regulus stared at it in absolute horror for a second before starting to cry._

_ Bella should have opened the door by now. She should have. She wouldn't have left him here just to torture him, would she? No, she'd be waiting nearby so she'd be there when he changed his mind about the Death Eaters, and he was just about ready to beg for her help in any possible way. He would do whatever she wanted. _Whatever she wanted._ "Bella, Bella, please!" he cried out, taking solace in the fact that he knew the feeling on his face was from tears and not the ubiquitous arachnids. "Please help me," he whimpered as the large spider made its way toward him. "I'm sorry. I'll do anything, Bella!" He couldn't take his eyes off the Big One, not even caring that the black widow was still crawling all over his arm. Desperate, he broke and cried, too scared to be ashamed of himself, "I'll join! Bella, I'll do it! Please, just make it stop!"_

_ In a flash, all the spiders were gone, and despite that he was still in shock, Regulus realized how easily he had been fooled. Bellatrix had cast a simple illusion spell, and that had been enough to break him. A simple illusion spell. He detachedly watched her open the door and pull him out. Regulus couldn't bring himself to move and was staring at the wall, collapsed on the floor. It was sick and pathetic, but he was thankful his cousin had made the spiders go._

_ Bellatrix was staring at him disapprovingly. He must not have lasted long enough for her standards. It was a bit hypocritical of her to be angry with him when her purpose was to force him to do something he didn't want to. Really, he was disappointed in himself, and that was—He didn't want to be a Death Eater. Regulus knew now that had no inclination whatsoever. It was wrong; it was bloody wrong, but it was what she wanted him to do, so he had agreed, but he knew it was wrong. He did not want to be a Death Eater, but Regulus knew better than to protest as Bellatrix pulled him to his feet and marched him upstairs to dress. It was taking him far too long; he was shaking so much. How could she have taken advantage like this?_

_ Regulus slowly put on his clothes from that day, trying to negotiate buttoning the oxford shirt he had been wearing earlier. Why had Bellatrix done this? Why hadn't she just cursed him? He would have given in just as quickly, and Bellatrix had to have put more effort into the illusion than she would have in, say, the Cruciatus. Then again, he had a feeling that psychological torture may have been a better route in her mind. Trying not to think about what he had just gone through, Regulus picked up his robes from the chair and walked back into the hallway._

_ Bellatrix looked him over and, deeming him worthy, apparated them both away._

_ They were in a large, shadowy room, and Regulus felt his hackles rise. Of course the Death Eaters had a large, dark room for meetings, but he did not want to be present in the slightest. Regulus realized he had been backing up unconsciously when he felt Bellatrix's nails digging into his shoulder again. She growled into his ear, "Come now, cousin, we have a deal."_

_ Regulus didn't remember making a deal. He had been made to think he had been locked in a room with altogether too many arachnids and had said something rash, because that was the only way Bellatrix would have helped him. He looked down at his hands and realized he was still shaking. Was it cold in the room, or was that just him, too? He could get closer to Bellatrix for warmth, but she was more likely to curse him than be comforting. She hadn't even let him arm himself; his wand had been missing from his room when he had gone to change._

_ A Death Eater approached Bellatrix, and Regulus was sadly not very surprised to hear Lucius's voice. Narcissa was determined to keep herself as neutral as she possibly could, but obviously she wasn't above letting Lucius secure them a place in the Dark Lord's regime should the Ministry lose. "Bellatrix, I'm surprised you managed to convince your cousin to join us," Lucius mentioned, as if Regulus wasn't standing two feet away from him. "I was under the impression that the entire family was against the idea."_

_ Regulus would have loved to interject that Lucius's impression was, in fact, correct. Save Bellatrix, of course, but aside from her, no other relative had considered the idea valid, especially not Regulus himself. Unfortunately, Bellatrix left no room for Regulus to reply and said, "Well, it was far easier than I would have thought. He's nothing like his brother."_

_ Lucius, having taken off the mask, frowned and said, "I suppose so." Slightly confused, Regulus wondered if Lucius had been about to contradict Bellatrix. But why would he? Regulus was nothing like Sirius. He wasn't brave, and he certainly couldn't stand up for his beliefs. Otherwise, Bellatrix wouldn't have been able to strong-arm him into joining the Death Eaters._

_ Regulus tried to push down the feeling of panic as he realized he wasn't sure how one actually became a Death Eater. Bellatrix had indeed gone completely mad if she really did believe Regulus would be able to kill someone. Of course, that initiation theory was probably bogus, made up to frighten away the unsure. The rest of the theories were also rather unwholesome, although Regulus did have to admit to himself that was mostly because most of them had to do with orgies and finding himself in a sexual situation with his eldest cousin was emphatically not something he was interested in. Hell, he'd kill himself to get out of that._

_ That said, he certainly wasn't very comfortable being manhandled, either. Bellatrix was dragging Regulus around, and he really wished she wouldn't brag about the fact that she had not convinced him but that he had "come of his own free will." If she meant she had threatened him into coming, then he had indeed come of his own free will, but he certainly did not want to be inducted into the Death Eaters._

_ Apparently, Regulus had been distracted long enough for Bellatrix to bring him before the dais. He was half-surprised that she didn't throw him down to the floor so he would be on his knees in front of the Dark Lord. When Regulus made eye-contact with Voldemort, a chill ran down his spine, and he felt like a deer in the headlights. It took Regulus a moment to remember to breathe. "So you are the younger Black," the Dark Lord started before scrutinizing Regulus's appearance. Regulus supposed he looked like he had fallen out of bed, because to be perfectly honest, he had. "I have heard that you are almost as proficient in Dark Magic as your brother," Voldemort continued, causing Regulus to wonder who on earth had told him that Sirius actually had learned all the spells and potions their mother had insisted the two of them learn. Neither of them liked to broadcast it, and to be frank they both would prefer that no one know how much they knew. Bellatrix was probably the one that told Voldemort._

_ Having no clue how to answer, Regulus stuttered, "Th—thank you, sir, but I—I'm not that good. Y—you're far too kind." He hoped to high heaven he was not shaking. That would not make a good impression. Wait, since when had he wanted to make a good impression? He didn't want to be a Death Eater! He couldn't in his right mind murder, and he would be damned if he could cast the _Cruciatus_ on anyone. Breaking eye contact with Voldemort, Regulus stared at the floor, hoping he would somehow get out of this alive._

_ "Maybe so, but Bellatrix has informed me that you are trained in the healing arts?" Voldemort suggested, not particularly caring what Regulus's response had been. Honestly, though, Regulus was just glad he hadn't committed some error by contradicting Voldemort. He was being humble, but that was beside the point. "We are in need of a competent healer, but so far, no one… suitable has presented themselves. What of you?" Voldemort asked._

_ Regulus winced and replied, "I've only started, sir. I don't know how helpful I would be." He was a couple weeks into his first year, but it would be years before he took the Hippocratic oath. Hell, his general biology was still fuzzy! "I mean, I know the counter-curses to many spells, sir, but I can barely heal a gash in someone's arm, let alone save someone's life."_

_ "Your cousin also mentioned that you showed great promise," Voldemort mentioned before continuing thoughtfully, "and it is only good sense to secure the loyalty of a healer, even an untrained one." After a moment's pause, Voldemort reasoned, "Mr. Black, a young man like yourself has to know that if the mudbloods and the blood-traitors continue to stay in power, all of the glory of the past will be swept away along with the few remaining pure bloodlines."_

_ Regulus knew that was true. He had been brought up to believe that, after all. The purebloods were superior to the mudbloods. However, Regulus also knew that too much incest led to genetic diseases and disorders. Exhibit A: Bellatrix. (He loved his cousin; he really did, but she was completely mad. Everyone in the family knew it. Everyone also expected it of Regulus and Sirius. Mum was certifiable, too.)_

_ What Regulus couldn't admit to anyone else was that he didn't completely hold with the theory. After all, part of him felt that this movement was a reaction to the technological advancements the Muggles had made in the past century. His mother had spoken of the German air raids on London during the Second World War, and his father flat-out refused to talk about his experiences then. Of course, people feared what they didn't understand, and that was partially why Regulus had decided to apply to Muggle university. He had figured that if he understood Muggles in general, then maybe he could understand the basis for all of the animosity. Then again, most wizards still detested Muggles because of the misunderstandings in the Middle Ages. People like Lucius just wanted to make sure their fortunes were secure, no matter who won this war. Regulus was unfortunately well aware that he was caught in the middle of a fight he didn't really want to take sides on._

_ If push came to shove, he would have taken this side. He hated that he would throw in his support for Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but almost everyone he cared about was on this side. It only left Andy and Sirius on the other. Besides, this ideological struggle was only about the structure of society. It wasn't like there was a master plan to eradicate the mudbloods. They were only going to be prevented from being taught in the future. The ones that were trained now would be kept to lower-level jobs. He wasn't sure what the agenda would be with the blood-traitors, but they were of worthy blood, if misguided. Hoping the question wasn't too forward, Regulus looked up again and asked, "What exactly would you require of me, sir?"_

_ Voldemort smiled, which caused Regulus to become uneasy, and replied oddly kindly, "Only your loyalty and your services, whenever they are needed. As I said, a healer is hard to come by. I doubt you would be required on the battle field, if that is what you are wondering."_

_ Regulus was afraid to break eye-contact, but he had a feeling that he should. He couldn't remember why exactly, but he had a vague feeling that he should go back to staring at the floor. Regulus knew he was distracting himself, though. He knew what Voldemort was saying was acceptable. There was no legitimate reason to say no. In fact, he almost couldn't consider saying no. If he joined, he would be asked to heal people. Voldemort hadn't said who, but Regulus could guess. If he were assigned to heal the… detainees, then he might even be doing good. That way, he survived, and neither part of his family hated him. Oh, Sirius would be disappointed, but at least Regulus could reassure him with a clear conscience that he would never hurt anyone. It was the right cause, anyway. It wasn't the silly, misguided crusade the blood-traitors insisted on having. "I'd be honored to join the Death Eaters, sir, were I given the chance," Regulus finally decided, sounding vaguely diffident._

_ Voldemort's smile became even more chilling than it had been before, and Regulus wondered wildly if he had made a mistake. He recognized madness when he saw it, and there was definitely a glimmer in the Dark Lord's eyes. It wasn't as bad as Bellatrix had become, but there were the beginnings of something lurking there. "Excellent," Voldemort said, nearly hissing as he said it. Quickly acquiring a stony expression, he commanded, "Kneel." Regulus obeyed immediately, not wanting to make any trouble. This was a mistake, but it had gone too far. Oh, why had he answered the bloody door? Why couldn't he have just slept through it? Sirius was going to hate him forever…_

_ The initiation turned out to be nothing more than swearing an oath and receiving the Mark, but Regulus somehow found it to be more perverse than anything he had heard. He knew—understood—what he was made to swear. It was a modification of a Wizard's Oath, made partially in English, partially in Latin, and partially in other ancient tongues. Bellatrix had to have known what she had sworn, but Regulus was not comfortable repeating the words Voldemort had told him to. He had done it anyway, but it left a foul taste in his mouth._

_ What Regulus hadn't expected was that the oath was sealed with the Mark. It would have been fine had the Mark been burned into his arm after the initial ritual had been complete, but the burning of the ink into his flesh as he effectively sold his soul was not something he had had in mind. Regulus focused on steadying his breathing as the oath took hold, but he couldn't help but tense in pain as the Dark Mark was branded on his arm as a symbol of his servitude. Regulus made sure he did not cry out. He didn't want to appear any more weak than he already did, so he took his time to rise from his position when the Dark Lord commanded him to. For Merlin's sake, if he hadn't, he probably would have passed out._

_ The other Death Eaters—he was one of them now, and, oh, God, how was he going to tell Sirius—decided to go on a celebratory raid or something. Regulus wasn't paying much attention. All he had heard was Voldemort dismissing him for the night. Hopefully, that meant that most Death Eaters had felt completely exhausted after they had received their Marks. Then again, it was a slim chance that Regulus's services would be needed._

_ Her fingernails digging into his shoulder, Bellatrix guided him out of the room and murmured, "Good choice, cousin," before leaving to join the others. Regulus lost control at that point and collapsed onto his knees. No one else was around, so he felt perfectly justified in collapsing from the pain. It wasn't like he was going to be able to apparate back home until the blinding agony eased enough to significantly lower his chances of splinching himself._

_ "Christ, Black, you're pathetic," Severus said disgustedly, having walked into the hall from a door further down the corridor. Regulus supposed he was working on potions for the Dark Lord. "What the hell are you whining about this time? Did Bellatrix in her infinite wisdom decide to show you around, or was she just playing Kick-the-Cousin again?" Severus demanded._

_ Regulus noted detachedly that Severus hadn't considered the real reason. "No," Regulus replied and gingerly showed Severus his left arm. He was shaking like a leaf, but it wasn't like Severus expected anything more of Regulus. He knew he had no pain tolerance, and Severus was probably going to mock him for being such a weakling, as usual._

_ Unexpectedly, Severus looked concerned and closed the distance between them very quickly. Kneeling next to Regulus, Severus demanded, "When did this happen? Just now?" Regulus shut his eyes and nodded, continuing to try and block out the pain. Severus asked, "How much does it hurt? And, for God's sake, be accurate. Don't use litotes. It's bloody annoying."_

_ Regulus whimpered when he felt a spike of pain as he moved to cradle his arm against his chest. Breathing heavily, he replied as truthfully as he could, "It feels like my arm was flayed then set on fire. It's nothing. I'll get over it."_

_ "Reg, you dumbass, what did I say about trivializing your pain? Don't bloody do it," Severus reminded him. He sighed and, knowing that Regulus was very unlikely to ask for any help, offered, "Look, Reg, you're obviously in no condition to do anything that requires thought. Do you need any help getting back home?"_

_ "Yeah, that'd be nice," Regulus breathed, trying to figure out how to dull the pain. There were ways, but he doubted that any magical remedy would work in this scenario. "I'm home for the weekend, so just dropping me off at Grimmauld would be nice, if it's not too much trouble," he continued, starting to feel a little delirious._

_ Severus began to look even more concerned than he had previously, but he thankfully did not say anything more before apparating Regulus back to his parents' house. Making sure Regulus had managed to unlock the door on his own, Severus admitted, "I never thought you'd do it, Reg. I thought you cared too much about your idiot brother."_

_ "You're assuming I actively wanted this, Sev," Regulus replied, feeling like he was on the verge of collapsing or fainting where he stood. "A drunk Bellatrix obviously isn't very conducive to my health. I recommend avoiding her when at all possible," he concluded shakily._

_ Severus grimaced and replied brusquely, "Just take care of yourself, all right, Black?"_

_ Feeling very tired, Regulus nodded, before Severus disapparated. Shutting the door, Regulus leaned against it to regain his bearings before rushing off to one of the bathrooms and retching. Even after his stomach had calmed down, his arm still felt like it was on fire, so Regulus went searching for the medical supplies in the first aid kit. Locating it in the bathroom on the ground floor, Regulus retreated into the kitchen to find what he was looking for. Taking the vial and a sterile syringe out, Regulus did a quick calculation to try and remember how much he should be giving himself. He considered asking Kreacher but immediately thought better of the idea. He didn't want Kreacher to worry, and Kreacher would also tell his parents. Therefore, he couldn't ask. Luckily, he noticed there were some notes on the vial's label for what the correct dosage should be. Regulus double-checked that he had the proper amount in the syringe before injecting it into his arm._

_ The relief was not immediate, but that was a good thing, because then he had time to replace everything without raising his parents' suspicion too much. The morphine kicked in shortly after he collapsed into bed, and Regulus passed out mere moments later, wondering how on earth he was going to explain what he had done…_

* * *

"Hi," the redhead said when Dorcas opened the door. Apparently Reggie's taste in women hadn't changed over the years. (There had been a rather amusing incident involving a certain green-eyed Gryffindor and the two other boys who had been pining away for or chasing after her. Regulus really had no manner of luck at all.) Looking slightly nervous, the redhead (whose hair was truthfully more brown than red, but Dorcas's sense of irony demanded she refer to the older woman as a redhead) continued, "I'm Vesta. I suppose you're Dorcas?"

"Yep," Dorcas replied, feeling rather chipper because Regulus had managed to drag himself out of his daze and promptly fallen asleep about thirty minutes prior. To be honest, the poor man needed some downtime, even if the concept was completely alien to the entire Black family. Shutting the door behind Vesta after inviting her in, Dorcas commented, "Regulus only fell asleep about half an hour ago, but he's been pretty much out-of-it all day. Oh, and Sirius left ages ago, so you don't have to worry about him going all overprotective and such."

Vesta was staring at Dorcas, only a little surprised. Dorcas hadn't expected that. To be honest, she had thought Vesta would either have been confused, in which case Regulus would have had some explaining to do, or unwilling to believe Dorcas knew the truth. Even so, it seemed that Vesta may have only been surprised that Dorcas called Regulus by his real name. Dorcas may have been blunt in communicating that she knew Secret-Agent Man over on the couch there was in fact the very awkward younger brother of her best friend. How said best friend managed to miss all the signs was beyond Dorcas, but anything was possible with those two. None too surprised, Vesta asked calmly, "Since when have you known that my husband—"

"Well, honestly, it was kind of obvious, what with him following Sirius around like a lost puppy. Plus, when I saw how much Sirius had changed, I was prepared to not recognize anyone else, and there Reg was, having tea with Narcissa, who must have a portrait of herself in the attic," Dorcas explained quite reasonably.

Vesta apparently shared the opinion of a vast portion of the populace in that Dorcas was completely out of her mind, but she recovered enough from the explanation to change the subject and ask, "Do you have any clue what's wrong with my husband, then?" Dorcas would accept Vesta's attempt to distract her from her point. "He didn't—nothing _happened_, did it?" she asked, glancing over at Regulus with a worried expression.

Dorcas became suspicious. What was the other woman worried about? "Well, he did just kind of stare off into space for a while back there," Dorcas admitted carefully, "but I didn't think that anything was too wrong with him. I hate to say it, but Reg's always been a little spacey. He snapped out of the daze relatively quickly and, after putting up with me interrogating him, fell asleep. As I said earlier, I think he has the flu."

Vesta seemed to process the information and replied, "All right." She watched Regulus for a moment before turning to speak with Dorcas again. Dorcas actually did have some things to talk to Reggie's wife about, but the topic of the conversation had the gall to interrupt.

"No… Bella… Please…" Regulus whimpered in his sleep. "Don't… hurts…" He had managed to completely entangle himself in the blanket Dorcas had put over him shortly after she had convinced him to get some sleep. Maybe she should have made sure he remained conscious. On the bright side, he had immobilized himself, so he couldn't accidentally fall off the couch and run the risk of hitting his head the coffee table and bleeding all over the place. The poor carpets probably could not stand another blood-removing carpet-cleaner spell.

Dorcas wasn't sure of what to do. Yes, she had heard Regulus having nightmares when she had been staying with him, but this was something completely different. She was in the room with him and, more importantly, his wife, who walked over to sit on the coffee table. Dorcas realized that Vesta looked more resigned than worried as she gently tried to wake her husband. Regulus flinched at his wife's touch. Crestfallen, Vesta just moved to brush the hair out of his face and inquired of Dorcas, "Do you know how long he's been this bad?"

"What, the nightmares?" Dorcas asked. She hadn't been trying sound like a smart ass, but at Vesta's unamused glare, Dorcas replied seriously, "He was talking in his sleep every so often when I was staying with him. I know he woke once, but he reassured me everything was fine. Yeah, Regulus looked a little shaken, but I trusted that he was telling me the truth."

Vesta sighed and murmured, "I just wish he'd told me…"

"Reggie probably didn't want to worry you," Dorcas reassured her. He would not have wanted anyone to worry about him. He had too much experience in telling his friends what was wrong and then having them overanalyze him, so Regulus had in all likelihood convinced himself that he was better off not disclosing his mental state to anyone.

"I know. I wish he didn't act like this, but I can't say I don't blame him," Vesta admitted and continued, "If I know him, he's been even quieter than usual so no one can accidentally or purposefully inform a certain brother-in-law of mine what's wrong."

Dorcas realized at that moment that Vesta might actually know why Regulus was insisting on refraining from informing Sirius of anything whatsoever. "You think that's why Reg hasn't said anything to Sirius?" she asked, trying to be subtle. She was failing, but that was irrelevant. It was also the point.

"No," Vesta replied, grimacing as Regulus resumed quietly pleading in his sleep with the nightmare version of Bellatrix. "He's afraid his brother will hate him, and his superiors won't be happy in the slightest if he breaks his cover. Sure, his cousin figured out he isn't in fact dead, but he didn't _tell_ her," Vesta tried to explain. "I'm making no sense, am I?" she sighed.

"No, you are," Dorcas reassured her. Christ, Dorcas had been going about this all wrong. All these years she should not have asked Regulus what was wrong with him, but… Okay, so obviously Regulus hadn't managed to finally find a woman willing to deal with him until he faked his death, but the point was that Dorcas should have just asked—Actually, never mind. Asking anyone Regulus was close to would have been a bad idea, as most of said people were either Slytherins or unlikely to divulge any information Regulus would have preferred classified. Dorcas wasn't too good at making nice with the Slytherins, and Sirius was far too good at keeping some kinds of secrets for Dorcas to get anything out of him. Ironic, that.

Making a decision, Vesta asked, "I hope it's not too much of an imposition, but could you please help me take him back home? I don't think he'll be in much of a condition to move for a while if I do wake him, and I'm very bad at side-along apparation." Vesta looked like she felt guilty as she tried to calm her husband down, despite the fact he was unconscious.

She knew that this question was probably none too polite, but Dorcas asked regardless, "Is he always this bad? With the nightmares? I was just wondering, because… some of the things I've heard him crying out were not exactly pleasant." The recurring role Bellatrix obviously played was not particularly reassuring, either.

"No, he's been good for the past decade," Vesta murmured. "For a while, he had been …pretty upset about things. When the children were five, he had a particularly bad flashback. It was horrible. Luckily, neither of the children woke." She shook her head and continued, "He was worried that one of them had for some time. I just wish this didn't happen."

Dorcas had to agree with her, and even though she considered asking why Vesta had said flashback and not nightmare, Dorcas reminded, "Well, do you want me to apparate still, or…?"

Vesta looked slightly embarrassed, probably for forgetting momentarily that she had been about to leave. "Yes, please," she replied. Vesta then told Dorcas where she and Reg were staying and apparated away. Dorcas picked up her friend and likewise left.

At Artemesia's house, after Dorcas had carried Reg upstairs from the entry hall, Vesta invited Dorcas to stay for lunch. Dorcas decided to turn down the offer, because she was unpleasantly reminded of why she had avoided Artemesia whenever her relatives were in town as the Hellspawn entered the room Vesta and Dorcas had been talking in and exclaimed, "Why is that psychopath here?" Vesta looked annoyed at she who was either her cousin or her sister. (Dorcas never paid much attention to that sort of thing. Artemesia had far too many cousins.)

"Diana, she is a dear friend, so be civil. Don't you have to be at work?" Vesta archly reminded said Hellspawn. Strangely enough, the Hellspawn glared at Vesta and took her leave in peace. Dorcas was amazed.

"You have it trained," Dorcas murmured in amazement.

Vesta laughed and said, "I take it you've met my sister before? She's a bit unpleasant to people she doesn't really trust. Sorry."

Dorcas shrugged and assured her, "Don't worry about it. I dealt with Sirius's paranoid ways for seven years in school and still decided to share a flat with him, Frank, and the Chocolate Hoarder. Nothing much fazes me anymore." After a moment, Dorcas mentioned, "Thank you for the invitation for lunch, but I don't want to intrude." Dorcas was just surprising herself now. Politeness? From her? She normally would have made some comment about the Hellspawn, but then again, Idiot #2 wasn't particularly doing well, which was obviously not good for the older woman's mental health.

Vesta appeared to be a little relieved. She probably wanted to go check on Regulus, in any case. Dorcas decided once and for all that the woman was a saint. "Well, thank you," Vesta said. "For everything."

"It was no problem," Dorcas replied lightly. She said goodbye and took her leave, glad to be gone (and thus free). Dorcas apparated back to the flat just in time to have Sirius return from his therapist. He sat down on the couch next to her and said, "Apparently, I'm in denial."

Dorcas knew only one way to reply and inquired, "Would you like some firewhisky, then? I'd like some firewhisky. Let's get some firewhisky." She needed a less stressful job, like being an Azkaban guard. That paid, didn't it?

"Dorcas, I'm not going to be less depressing if you liquor me up."

Dorcas stared at her friend skeptically. With a sigh, she said, "But it will make me feel better."

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Vesta converses with what she thinks might as well be a brick wall._


	46. Auld Lang Syne

Vesta was glad none of the others had minded that she took off for lunch ten minutes early. It had been an exhausting morning, and she was looking forward to the break. Shaking her head, Vesta turned the corner to pass through one of the psychiatric corridors on her way to the cafeteria. She immediately noticed a man leaving one of the offices. He had a particularly dark look on his face, and Vesta's immediate impulse was to ask him if he was all right. Her next thought, however, made her walk more quickly to catch up with him. After all, she had never properly met her brother-in-law.

When Vesta had caught up to Sirius, she tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Are you all right?" she asked, trying not to sound too concerned. From what Terry had told her, Sirius had a tendency to react poorly to sympathy. Maybe this was a bad idea…

Apparently that hadn't changed in the past fifteen years, because Sirius glared and said gruffly, "I'm fine," before continuing on his way. Well, he obviously hadn't recognized her, which was not a surprise, seeing as everyone seemed to be conspiring against the two of them meeting. (By "everyone," Vesta meant Artemesia and Terry.)

Trying to figure out a way to get her brother-in-law to stop for a minute so she could explain herself, Vesta again chased him down. "Wait, Sirius, I realize I should have introduced myself first. I'm Artemesia's cousin," she explained, wondering if that would really help. Sirius stopped and raised an eyebrow, so Vesta figured he was at least going to humor her for the moment. "I'm Vesta," she continued and then nervously babbled, "Well, I just figured we should meet at some point, and you looked upset when you left the office, so I figured this was as good a time as any to say hello, and I'm very grateful you've been taking care of my husband."

"Oh. Right. I suppose I should apologize for snapping at you," Sirius replied, obviously chagrined. Vesta wondered what Artemesia had told him about her. In all likelihood desperate to smooth over his initial reply, Sirius said, "So you're married to White?" He looked particularly curious. Maybe he had been meaning to speak with her at some point, too? "He's a good man. Clueless sometimes, but it's a pleasure working with him. I don't mind keeping him out of trouble," Sirius continued before again apologizing, "I really am sorry I was short with you. My therapist and I disagree over a great many things, so it's been a bit of a rough day."

"It's fine," Vesta said, waving it off. She hadn't expected him to even try to explain himself, although she supposed that was more because he knew Artemesia could never keep her mouth shut about anything, so Vesta would hear about his problems anyway. "I'm used to it," she added. "You may have noticed, but Terry isn't very much good at holding conversations with people he doesn't know. He's not the most sociable person on Earth."

"I had noticed that," Sirius replied with a grin. It faded rather quickly, however, and Vesta wondered what exactly he had thought of. "You know, I've been meaning to talk to you about White," he mentioned hesitantly before falling silent for a moment.

Vesta decided he was trying to figure out how to ask her to lunch without implying anything he did not mean to imply. She was starting to see why it took Sirius and Artemesia years to realize they were interested in each other. "Would you like to go out to lunch, then? I've just started my lunch break, so I've some free time right now," Vesta suggested.

Sirius seemed grateful she had been the one to suggest that plan of action and agreed, "That sounds like a good idea." As they resumed walking down the hall, he asked, "There's a cafeteria around here, isn't there? Down a floor, across the hall from one of the storage areas?"

Vesta nodded and mentioned, "You must have been here quite frequently to know exactly where the caf' is." She only belatedly realized she might have been referring to the war. Well, she was making an excellent impression on her brother-in-law. Why was she behaving like this? It wasn't like he knew she was married to his brother, but _she_ knew she was, so she felt like she had an obligation to feel nervous. After all, it wouldn't really be good if she had to explain to Terry that his brother didn't like her very much because she had that tendency to completely ruin perfectly good conversations.

Thankfully, Sirius didn't seem to take offence and mentioned, "Well, I was pretty accident-prone as a kid. Reg was, too, but he seemed to find more inventive ways of hurting himself. Thus, I managed to spend far too much time here and memorize the floor-plan."

Vesta smiled politely and wondered what she could possibly follow that comment with. She wondered if Sirius was rambling a little because he was nervous. From Terry's stories about his childhood, his older brother had seemed everything but easily shaken. On the other hand, time and circumstances could change people irreparably, and Sirius was a prime candidate for irreparable change. "Ah. Sounds like one of my younger sisters and the principle's office. She ended up knowing the layout of our high school better by the end of the first quarter of her freshman year than I had in my senior year," she admitted. The sad thing was that it was true. Of course, Diana had always been one for breaking the rules.

"Freshman year in American schooling's, what, fourth year?" Sirius asked, trying to remember. "Artemesia tried to explain it to me once, but it always takes me a while to think it through. It's kind of embarrassing," he explained.

Vesta was a little fuzzy on the matter, too, but she assumed the math was what she thought it was and replied, "Yeah. That's right, and don't worry. I sometimes can't remember the conversion, either. It doesn't help that the Muggle British school system has lower and upper sixth instead of sixth and seventh year. That drives Terry crazy whenever one of my various relatives gets it wrong. No one really notices, but they still haven't cottoned on to the fact he despises Quodpot _and_ football yet, either." Before Sirius could even ask, Vesta clarified, "American football, not soccer." With a smile, Vesta continued, "However, he is obsessed with Quidditch, but it wouldn't be so bad if my father hadn't managed to convert him into a baseball fan." Vesta sounded slightly annoyed at the last. She loved her dad; she really did. She just wished he hadn't managed to convince Terry that the greatest game ever played was baseball.

"Wait, so your dad's the professional baseball player? I remember meeting him when 'Sia convinced me to go with her to visit her—your—family at Christmas once. He spoke at length about something having to do with dodgy socks," Sirius mentioned.

Vesta sighed exasperatedly. She wouldn't have been surprised if Artemesia had also complained about that. "As a New Yorker, it has always been my dad's solemn duty to despise the Red Sox," she explained, "and he played for the Dodgers. He's been retired for a very long time, but he will still talk your ear off for hours."

Sirius grinned and said, "Your old man sounds like a blast. Too bad he's not obsessed with Quidditch. Granted, a long discussion about baseball does sound vastly superior to making civilized conversation with 'Sia's mum. No offense, but she's one of the Furies."

"Really? I would have said she's a gorgon," Vesta replied, feeling far more at ease. Sirius laughed at that, so Vesta commented, "I see you've had prolonged exposure to her, then."

They had finally reached the cafeteria, and Vesta was glad to see that it wasn't packed yet. The medical students tended to swamp the eating area whenever they left the class before lunch. In another lifetime, Vesta had looked forward to that, but times had changed, and her husband was at home, trying to sleep off a fever that refused to break. It had been a week and a half, and he was getting better, but Vesta was still worried. She knew, logically, that he just had a particularly bad case of the flu, but then there was a chance he could catch pneumonia. She didn't want to consider how compromised his immune system had been before he had fallen ill.

After sitting down at a table, Sirius finally asked, "So, how is White? Is he feeling any better?" Vesta forced a smile, wondering how on earth she could pull this off. Sirius obviously expected that Terry would be fine by now. Then again, his wording implied differently.

Vesta dropped the façade. "He's still sick," she admitted, wondering if she should have tried to convince him to go to St. Mungo's for a second opinion. He wouldn't have gone, in any case. Still, it couldn't have been the best idea to leave him to his own devices. "It's nothing serious, I don't think, but he's been sleeping about three times as much as he usually does, so I'm a little worried," Vesta continued. "He was so tired for a while; he couldn't even bring himself to read. He's been improving, but…"

Sirius looked concerned, but he didn't say anything for a moment. "You do know I'm not going to let him try to do anything stupid while he's ill, right?" he mentioned earnestly. Vesta assumed Sirius was referring to Terry's mission. Sirius went on to berate himself, muttering, "Damn, I should have realized he hadn't had enough time to recover."

"He pushes himself too hard," Vesta agreed, noting that Sirius really did seem quite angry with himself. She decided to explain, "Terry just wants this whole fiasco over and done with, but I wish he had never come back to Britain in the first place. I know that's selfish of me, but he already did his duty, even if _he_ doesn't see it that way."

Sirius was rearranging the food on his plate and replied, "White's been a help to the Order, but you're right. He could have—and should have—stayed out of the second war." Vesta knew she should have been surprised by what he said, but he was agreeing with her. Sirius went on to explain, "A friend of mine figured out some of this nonsense, and Dumbledore apparently was on the trail of about half of the information. All White would have had to do is tell one of us what he knew, and he could have avoided this mess. He's not made for war. He's not like me or Bellatrix or Dorcas or Rosier or any of the others. He shouldn't be on the battlefield."

Vesta glanced down at the table and murmured, "Why can't he ever listen to reason?"

"You would think he would have learned by now," Sirius agreed. "Thirty-four years of experience should have made some sort of an effect on him. Alas, he's still stubborn as a mule." He shook his head and continued, "You know, he's made some really foolish decisions recently. I'm sure running to the Order every time he's on the receiving end of a beating isn't winning him any friends in the Death Eaters." Oh, was Vesta well aware of that. Of course, Terry wasn't running to the Order but to his brother, not that said sibling seemed to make the connection.

"He tries not to cast himself into suspicion, but you've talked to him," Vesta replied. Terry was obviously capable of doing his job, but when he had his guard down or he was noticeably nervous, he was unfortunately very talkative. Vesta admitted, "Terry wears his heart on his sleeve. I'm just surprised he's managed not to raise more suspicion than he already has."

Sirius shrugged and reminded her, "Well, these are the Death Eaters we're talking about. They're either incredibly intelligent or incredibly stupid. Since the vast majority of the intelligent ones know that paying attention to Voldemort increases their lifespan or are too busy looking at themselves in a mirror, it's not that unsurprising that White's been fine." At Vesta's puzzled expression, Sirius explained, "It's very difficult to pry Lucius away from reflective surfaces."

Vesta had some trouble believing Sirius, although the mental image was slightly amusing. She considered for a moment if Sirius was trying to cheer her up. If that was the case, he sure had a strange way of trying to accomplish that task. He was trying, though. "Lucius sounds like my sister Athene in that respect," she commented, figuring that she would probably be less upset if they did change the subject. Annoying siblings tended to do the trick, but she doubted that Sirius would be very willing to talk about his. Were Vesta wrong, she wasn't going to complain. After all, she generally liked that topic, just not in connection with danger or illness.

"Yeah, well, I was always surprised that Narcissa ended up marrying him of all people. She usually has better taste," Sirius replied pensively. He shook his head and continued, "She's too smart for him, but knowing Narcissa, that may have been the point."

Vesta remembered who Narcissa was then. She was Terry's favorite cousin. Vesta knew that Lestrange was also related to them, but she was fairly certain there was a third. Said cousin had an androgynous name, because she couldn't remember if said cousin was male or female. Terry didn't talk about any of them much, especially when the children were around. Sirius usually had the great honor of an annual mention, even if it was obvious Terry thought about his family far more frequently. "Athene isn't an airhead," Vesta clarified. "She's just overly concerned about her looks. Speaking of relatives, however, how is my cousin? I haven't heard from her for a while, but I assume you two are still in touch."

"Well, 'Sia's fine," Sirius answered slowly, suspicious. Vesta was rather amused. She was just inquiring after her cousin, after all. It wasn't like she was trying to weasel information out of the half of the couple that was obviously more prone to divulging information on accident. "I haven't seen her for about a week, but—actually, she's been meaning to talk to you about your daughter," he mentioned and explained, "It has something to do with her choice in reading materials, if I remember correctly. Gemma mentioned it had to do with the war."

Vesta sighed and covered her eyes with her hand. "I swear to God that girl is entirely too much like her father," she muttered. Sirius looked vaguely confused for a moment before Vesta clarified, "Macha. She's too curious for her own good, like Terry. It doesn't help that she has my temperament. I really do wish she had not been sorted into Slytherin."

Sirius looked pensive as he argued, "She seems happy there, from what I've noticed. Your daughter's intelligent and ambitious, and most of the students in her house leave her alone. Not many students would be able to tell Draco Malfoy off without repercussions."

"I heard about that," Vesta admitted, wincing. Macha was, if anything, hot-headed and stubborn, but Terry had been disappointed in Macha for making trouble as she had. Vesta was proud of her daughter for standing up for herself, but she did have to admit that Macha calling Malfoy what she did was probably not the best idea, especially since Macha had implied that Narcissa had had an affair with one of her male relatives to produce Draco. Artemesia had obviously given Sirius the abbreviated story, and hence why Terry had been less than pleased when his daughter had related the incident to him. Vesta defended, "Still, if she hadn't been in Slytherin house, she wouldn't have been called what she had in the first place."

"Malfoy, Jr., probably wouldn't have started to single her out early in the year, no," Sirius agreed, but continued, "We both know, on the other hand, that the Death Eaters aren't above certain things. Draco knows better than to do anything stupid, but antagonizing your daughter could have been intended as a message. If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Narcissa was pleased to hear about the fight. Ever the politician, she is."

It could also have been that Narcissa was aware of exactly whose daughter her son had gotten in a fistfight with. Terry really needed to tell his brother the truth. For one mad moment, Vesta considered telling Sirius and damning the consequences. She knew he probably wouldn't believe her initially, but when he did accept the truth, he would make sure Terry didn't hurt himself any more than he already had. Terry would not react well to the news, though. He would probably never trust Vesta again, no matter what Sirius said in her defense. Vesta might have taken the chance if she knew Terry wouldn't react poorly, because in the worst-case scenario, he would repeat what he did a lifetime ago, and Vesta knew she couldn't attend his funeral a second time. She doubted that Sirius would be able to, either.

"In any case, apparently Macha's been reading some books about the initial war with Voldemort. I remember Artemesia saying that White disapproves of Macha's reading selection," Sirius said, returning to the initial topic and breaking Vesta out of her thoughts.

"Which books?" Vesta asked, hesitant. Yes, her husband generally disliked the fact that their daughter was so interested in the war he was trying to forget, but the few he had banned Macha from reading were usually the ones that mentioned him in any detail. An older version of one particular book had actually gone into detail as to what had happened to him, but the entire book had been like that, which was why the newer versions were far less gruesome than the original. "Please tell me one wasn't the book written by the Death Eater," Vesta said.

"It was, but I can't figure out what White hates so much about it. I looked it up in Flourish and Blotts, and it was actually not too bad. It's bloody obvious where text has been cut, though," Sirius mentioned. He added shortly thereafter, "On the other hand, I don't know what edition is in the Hogwarts library. It was pretty obvious from the introduction that the book went through a massive revamping after the first edition. Too much detail, apparently."

"I read parts of it," Vesta murmured, looking down at her lunch. Terry had tried to read the original edition but had stopped after only a couple of pages. He said that he knew who wrote it and refused to read any more of it. Vesta read through select sections, but she knew for sure that she did not want her children reading it. "The original went into detail on how some of the better known murders were committed," she informed him, wishing she had never read the book. "It was also controversial because of the ending; it effectively said you were innocent. On all counts, to be honest. Bellatrix Lestrange is a sick, sick woman. What she did to…"

Sirius turned grim and growled, "I hope she burns in hell."

"…what she did to Regulus…" Vesta continued and immediately reminded herself to remember that here, especially in front of Sirius, Terry was her husband, and Regulus was the young man she had sometimes talked to. Regulus was dead, and Terry wasn't (he was only very ill). Terry wasn't the one she had patched up every time the Death Eaters had punished him for refusing to murder, and Regulus certainly wasn't the one she tried to calm down when he woke in the middle of the night, scared to death and thinking he was still at Lestrange's mercy.

Sirius was silent for a while longer before murmuring, "That's right. You're the medwitch Reggie was always going on about. Fuck, he was head over heels in love with you." Sirius had a ghost of a smile on his face, but when he seemed to realize what he had said, he immediately grimaced and apologized, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No. No, it's fine," Vesta replied, somewhat nervous. Shit. Why did she bring that up? She should have just kept her mouth shut about that damned book. It wasn't like she had read anything about what happened to… but that was a lie. Shit! Why did she have to think about that? She had to keep the divide in her mind, especially when talking to her husband's older brother. "I shouldn't have brought it up. It was thoughtless of me," she corrected him.

Sirius nodded and looked off to the side. "Still, it can't be a nice comparison between then and now," he said somberly before he continued, "I mean, what Bellatrix has been doing to White—I can't believe her! Does she really have nothing else better to do? Sure, White's been slipping, but there's no reason for her to do all of that to a Death Eater no one remembers. Does she want to raise suspicion? White's made it pretty clear he effectively has a _carte blanche_."

Vesta straightened. Was Sirius implying what she thought he was implying? "You think Bellatrix recognizes Terry?" she asked, now determined to drag the entire story out of her husband when she returned home after work, fever be damned. Normally, she wouldn't try to get him to talk about more than he was comfortable with telling her, but there was no way in hell that she was going to let him out of her sight if he was going to go and face Bellatrix Lestrange alone, especially if the madwoman knew he was her supposedly dead cousin.

"Yeah," Sirius replied, visibly concerned. He was silent for a moment, clearly thinking about what to say, before he quietly admitted, "Yeah, I'm afraid she recognizes Reggie." Vesta blinked in surprise, and Sirius smiled wanly and said, "You didn't really think I wouldn't recognize my own brother, did you?"

"How long?" Vesta breathed. He knew? From what she could tell from what Terry and Artemesia had said, Sirius was still clueless. Angrily, Vesta demanded, "How could you not say anything? Do you have any idea what all this has been doing to him, how lying to you has been tearing him apart?" Making sure no one overheard, she hissed, "He's your brother!"

"I know," Sirius murmured, sounding guilty, "I mean, I have a good idea of what he's been going through. He's never been much of an actor, especially when he's injured or ill." With a sigh, he explained, "I ran into Narcissa around New Year's in Diagon Alley. I'd suspected since halfway through December, at the Order meeting, but she admitted she had recognized him, too. I have been meaning to say something to Reg, but now I'm starting to wonder if I should tell him at all."

Vesta was about to contradict Sirius on principle, but she did have to admit that Terry might not react well to the news. She could unfortunately imagine a very bad response far too easily. Despite that possibility, her initial impulse got the better of her, and Vesta said, "You need to tell him, and soon. I know he won't react well, but you need to tell him."

"I was planning on waiting until the end of the war," Sirius admitted quietly.

"So was he, but you've obviously figured it out," Vesta retorted scathingly. "How did that feel, by the way? Finding out your little brother's been lying to you for the past fifteen years? Don't you wish he would have told you?" she demanded.

Instead of replying properly, Sirius smiled sadly and admitted, "You know, I don't think I've ever seen him this happy, even with everything that's been going on." He laughed bitterly and continued, "It doesn't make any sense. Bella'll kill him when she finds out. How can he just ignore that? I mean, she has to be close to making the connection, if she hasn't already."

Vesta knew he was avoiding the subject. She didn't blame him for that, because it was obvious that he was trying not to think about it. He had probably taken the past few months to calm down enough so he could talk about this sensibly. Vesta realized he may still be so angry that he was afraid of how he would react when he did confront his brother with the truth. Of course, Vesta had to admit that she was distracting herself from the question her brother-in-law had asked. Well, she was going to be the bigger person and talk about what was bothering her instead of keeping it bottled up.

Vesta steeled herself and informed Sirius, "He knows, and you of all people should have noticed he isn't ignoring reality. He's scared to death, and, to be honest, I am, too." The only reason she asked the next question was because she was talking to the only other person who could fathom the workings of Terry's mind. Sounding far too fragile for her own tastes, Vesta asked, "Was there any way I could have talked him out of this, out of fighting?"

Sirius stared at her for a moment before replying flatly, "That's a funny joke." He sighed before he properly replied, "No, you couldn't have, not in a million years. You have no idea how hard I tried to keep him out of the first war. That he listened to me for two years is something of a miracle. I used to think he was easily swayed by his friends or what passed for them, but I realized later, in Azkaban, that he was just stubborn as a mule. Actually, mules could learn thing or two from him. I was such an idiot. If I'd just let him go off and do whatever he wanted—"

Vesta couldn't listen to what-ifs. She had heard enough for one lifetime. "If you had, he might have made a fatal mistake instead of a near-fatal one," she finished definitively. Terry didn't talk much about what he had done, to the extent that he talked about it at all, but what little he had told her about how he had ended up at the mercy of the Death Eaters chilled her to the bone. She had been scared to death of the undead even before he told her.

The two of them were silent for more than a moment before Sirius murmured, "Is he really that scared?" He looked particularly upset, and Vesta wasn't sure why before she thought of the most likely reason. Sirius hadn't been able to tell Terry felt that way. "He's gotten better at hiding his emotions," Sirius stated. "I don't know if that's a good thing or not."

Vesta knew the feeling. "What kind of development that is depends entirely on what he is hiding and who he's hiding it from," she said. Terry was becoming more closed off than Vesta thought was healthy. Diana hadn't seemed to notice a change, but Vesta certainly had.

Sirius grimaced and continued, "But you think he's close to going over the edge." Vesta looked down at her plate, embarrassed she had been so obvious. Sirius seemed likewise chagrined, but he reassured her, "Hey, you're right. Something's gone wrong. I don't know what, but he's losing it." Sirius didn't want to continue, but he said, "It's just what happens. Hell, we both know he can pull all this off, but it's gone on too long. He's probably told you he's been given an ultimatum again, but I don't know if we can finish up our project before he has to break cover or…"

Sirius's suddenly blank expression scared Vesta. Of course, what Sirius had been alluding to wasn't particularly pleasant, either. Vesta did not want to think about that possibility. However, there was a way she could do her best to prevent it. She began, "Sirius, he listens to you—" He started to protest, and Vesta continued, "No, you misunderstand. Yes, he listens to me, too, but everything's gone to hell, and I can't ask this of him. You don't need to ask."

Frowning, Sirius said, "You want me to convince him to quit."

He was a little blunt, but that was the gist of it. Vesta's request was a little more nuanced. She corrected, "No, not exactly." With a sigh, she tried to figure out a way to phrase her feelings without coming across as controlling and overbearing. Finally, Vesta explained, "We've already established that neither of us want him in the middle of the war. I'm well aware that keeping him from fighting is impossible without somehow incapacitating him. I also know that if the Death Eaters make a move to hurt the children, he may quit, but if nothing happens to Leo or Macha, he'll stay with the Death Eaters until they kill him."

"And you're afraid that's going to happen sooner rather than later," Sirius murmured.

"Yes, I am," Vesta replied, trying to stay business-like in her approach. She wasn't sure how much longer she could remain vaguely detached from the situation. "Look, I know whatever you're doing is important, and I won't stop him from that, but he's in too much goddamn danger in some fucking redundant job!" Vesta finished. Well, there went her detachment.

"It is important," Sirius admitted darkly. He collected himself before he said, "Vesta, I understand, but I don't think I, or even the combined forces of Andy, Narcissa, and I, could get him to quit. Regulus is determined to make sure Voldemort doesn't suspect what we're doing."

"But if he's caught, then everything will go to hell!" Vesta protested. She calmed down slightly before she tried again to explain, "All I'm asking is for you to try to convince him the next time—and we both know there will be a next time—Lestrange gets her hands on him." Vesta would not continue, because she refused to even consider that Terry would not live that long. There were more Death Eaters than Bellatrix Lestrange, after all.

Sirius was silent. Vesta couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking about. When he resumed eating lunch, Vesta wasn't sure what to think herself. Was he going to turn her down? A couple minutes later, Sirius said, "I assume that if Dorcas and I have to save my idiot brother from being murdered by Voldemort, what you said goes double, right? I hope so, because fuck if I'm not locking him in a room at Hogwarts after that." Vesta sighed in relief, and Sirius apologized, "Look, I'm sorry if I worried you, but I'm still not sure if we should make this decision for him. However, he's already proven unable to save himself, so I suppose if Bella decides to quit the land of denial, I should do my best to convince him. If there are extenuating circumstances, I won't promise anything. Still, if I have to rescue him directly from Bella's clutches, he really has no say in the matter."

"That's all I can ask," Vesta murmured. More and more people were filing into the cafeteria, and Vesta judged that even what little they had spoken of was not suitable to discuss in a public place during lunch hour. Sirius seemed to have drawn the same conclusion, judging by the way he glanced around then sent a meaningful look towards Vesta. There was another moment of silence before she switched gears and mentioned, "You know, Terry's the reason that Artemesia's still single."

Sirius winced at the new topic and said, "Please tell me he didn't—"

"Chase every single boyfriend of hers away?" Vesta finished with a smile. She shrugged and explained, "Well, if any of said suitors made it to the point where they met Terry and then made like a tree, then Artemesia was better off without them. I mean, really, how could he have scared them off unless they hadn't been too sure about the relationship in the first place?"

"I'm sure White can come up with some very interesting threats," Sirius said, smiling a little. He seemed a little uneasy on the topic, but Vesta wasn't sure of the cause of his unease. Well, Vesta didn't think Artemesia was angry with him, so he could have been a bit embarrassed. In that case, that his reaction was proper was another matter entirely.

"Fortunately, he doesn't dare say a word against you. I think Artemesia would throttle him for sending mixed messages," Vesta continued, deciding it was about time she delivered her little speech to her brother-in-law. He had been spared of it thus far simply because she hadn't met him, but Vesta didn't completely trust him with her cousin. She began nonchalantly, "Oh, that reminds me: break my cousin's heart, and I'll hunt you down and kill you. Painfully. I won't even consult Artemesia, but I'm pretty sure I could recruit Diana to help."

Sirius stared at her in something between astonishment and disbelief before he started laughing nervously. "Right," he said, hoping she was joking. "I'll try not to." Clearly, this was not a segue he would have preferred to go through in order to stop talking about Terry.

"See that you don't," Vesta said brightly. Sirius still looked like a deer in the headlights, which caused Vesta to wonder if he was taking her as seriously as she had a feeling he might be. With a exasperated sigh, she mentioned, "You do know that I'm joking, right? I don't want Artemesia to get burned, yes, but I don't literally mean I'd kill you. Remember, I'm married to Terry. Killing you isn't conducive to continuing to be married to him."

Sirius shook his head and corrected, "No, I wasn't—I was just remembering the time Reg said mostly the same thing to Lucius Malfoy. God, that was awkward, if hilarious. I mean, the thought of a second-year facing down a seventh-year Slytherin…" He trailed off, aware he was stalling. Vesta didn't mind, though. Sheepish, Sirius said, "Yeah, I know. Trust me, I have no intention of hurting 'Sia, but I think may have done something to upset her, and…" He sighed before continuing, "I just don't know anymore. God knows I love her, but, I don't know, I can't shake the feeling that I keep doing the exact wrong things."

Vesta did not want to get in the middle of what was turning out to sound all too much like marriage counseling. She had told Artemesia that already, but she had not expected to be on the receiving end of the same talk from Sirius. Did Vesta really look like she was the one to talk to? There was no evidence of that sort at all. In fact, there was only evidence to the contrary. Christ, it was a miracle that she and Terry had managed to admit they were interested in each other in less than five years. Fine, so it was a miracle that Vesta admitted it, but her admitting it had depended on Terry admitting it, which had been more far more likely to happen.

Sirius grinned suddenly and commented, "So I take it 'Sia has been a little upset, too, and you wish it weren't so?" Vesta glared, and Sirius back-pedalled, "Okay, then. I guess that means she's not too angry with me. It's all good." He looked a little nervous before he resumed, "She isn't angry, with me, is she?"

Vesta started to understand why her cousin liked this man. They really did deserve each other. Starting to feel like she had a migraine coming on, Vesta relayed, "No, she is under the impression you were upset about something and is therefore upset herself. No one is angry."

Blushing slightly, Sirius said, "Oh." Yes, Vesta knew far too much about their relationship. Yet another thing to complain to her fool husband about. Fine, so he didn't choose his relatives, but this was starting to get preposterous. "You know, I've been thinking," Sirius began. Vesta had a bad feeling about this. "I just remembered that White's always liked girls with red hair."

Vesta furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Ah, he never told you?" Sirius asked, surprised but not dissuaded from sharing. "Huh. That's weird. Well, here's the deal: so, when we were in school, White kind of had a thing for Lily, but back then everyone kind of had a thing for Lily, except Remus, because he thought he was dark and twisty and therefore unworthy of love, and Crouch, for various sordid reasons, revolving around pissing off his father. However, the point is that White, rocket scientist that he is, got in the middle of an argument between James and Sni—Severus Snape, which led to Lily deciding to hell with James and Snape and basically dragging White to Hogsmeade with her.

"So, that was obviously problematic, seeing as Mum blew a gasket when she found out and sent me a Howler simply because, while I can be stupidly brave, contradicting Lily when she was that angry with James and/or Snivellus was like catching hell from Lucifer for stating the obvious and saying he might have not wanted to do that rebellion thing because it kind of backfired. There would likely have been about as much fire and brimstone.

"Anyway, White was absolutely mortified. It was kind of funny, if you ignored the problem of White belonging to a certain pureblood family that liked to pretend people like Lily didn't exist, much less snog one's little brother in the middle of the Great Hall to get one's best friend and worst enemy to bugger off. She apologized a fuck-load later, but it was irrelevant. The image was unfortunately burned into my retinas for all eternity. Of course, she was actually apologizing to White and not me, because he was catching hell from the entirety of Slytherin house for snogging a Muggle-born. Well, not from Crouch. He didn't care, and Snivellus was just pissed because Lily was _his_ dream-girl. On the Gryffindor side of things, James decided it was hilarious about ten minutes after the fact, and I was still utterly gobsmacked."

Vesta was trying not to stare. She really was, but the story was utterly insane. She was also trying not to think about how the Lily who Sirius was talking about was the mother of Harry Potter. The only thing that could make this conversation any more demented would be if a medical student had been listening. (Vesta was trying to ignore the fact that they'd had an audience for most of the story.) Deciding it was safe again to form words, Vesta said, "Can we never talk about twenty-year old high-school gossip ever again? At least in public?"

Sirius shrugged. "You're the one that asked," he mentioned innocently. Vesta realized this was his pseudo-revenge to her earlier comments about him and Artemesia. Also, this was the sort of thing that Vesta had missed out on because her husband hadn't been in contact with his family for some time. Sirius had unfortunately resumed his tangent in the meantime, "Where was I? Oh, right. Red-heads. Anyway, White's always gravitated towards strong-willed women, so you can only imagine how bloody happy a good number of us were that there had been no single, female Weasleys our age. I don't think I could have dealt with being related to Molly. Don't get me wrong. Molly Weasley's a lovely woman, but she's a bit too, I don't know, happy? Of course, if White had married to a Weasley girl, I'd have gone to family get-togethers again, because the eventual smack-down between Molly and Bella would have been epic. Granted, Fabian and Gideon would've monopolized the ticket sales, but that would have been expected."

Apparently Sirius realized Vesta still looked utterly horrified and apologized, "I'm sorry. I start to babble when I'm nervous." He hesitated before he admitted, "Well, I babble when I'm nervous around people I want to like me. Sorry. It's just been a while, you know, since I've actually been able to talk to someone about White without that someone suspecting me of going round the bend. White's going to kill me for telling you about that time with Lily, though."

Feeling a little more sympathy for Sirius for reasons beyond her control, Vesta asked, "Why don't you ever call Terry by his first name?"

"What, instead of White?" Sirius asked in return, clearly glad Vesta hadn't said anything about what he had just admitted. "Well, calling him White just sounds less false. If I call him Terry, then I'm afraid I'll slip. Calling him White is easier to accept. He did effectively take your name," he reminded her with a slight smile. Frowning, he murmured, "I wouldn't blame you if you told him that I knew. I really should tell him, but I know how much it will hurt him to find out that I've known, and he's already enough of a nervous wreck. I can't do that to him."

Vesta was slightly angry that he was putting the decision on her. He was Terry's brother! This was his responsibility, not hers! She did have to admit that the offer was tempting. Well, that had not really been an offer. It was more like a request. Could she tell Terry? If she was in this situation, then she… Hell, she didn't know what she would do, either, supposing she were Terry, but if she were in Sirius's position, then she would have waited. For how long, Vesta wasn't sure, but she knew she would have waited until she had calmed down. Of course, she would have preferred that her sibling told her the truth—Oh, hell. How had she missed that?

There was only one answer Vesta could give, and she had the feeling that maybe it was the right one. "Look, I'm not going to stop trying to convince him to tell you, but, really, Sirius, if he finds out you know before he tells you, I'm sure he'd rather hear that from you," she said.

"Thank you," Sirius murmured.

Vesta knew she had to continue, "And, maybe if that is a long time off, then you shouldn't treat him like you know. You have to realize how much that hurts him."

Sirius nodded and said, "I've been trying. I really have, but sometimes he just does or says something, and I can't help myself. I mean, he'll always be my kid brother, even if I manage to fuck up doing right by him." He sighed and checked his watch. Grimacing, he mentioned, "I'm sorry, but I have to get going. I'm supposed to be meeting a friend later, and I still need to cancel my next session with the therapist."

Vesta was mildly surprised. "You're quitting just because of this one time?" she asked.

Sirius shook his head and replied, "No. That shrink thinks I'm fucked up because of what happened to Reggie. I can't say that helped, but if I was going to talk about traumatic experiences, I think I would have been better served talking about the last months of the war or back when I was a kid. We weren't getting anywhere, so I'm going to a Muggle psychiatrist. I dunno, but I trust more in science when it comes to mental illness. Probably because of Mum."

"Right," Vesta murmured. Terry rarely mentioned what had been wrong with his mother, but she had heard enough to validate his and his brother's adult opinions. The wizarding world could be absolutely medieval considering some illnesses, and most of them had to do with the mind. "I don't particularly blame you."

Sirius nodded and said goodbye. As Vesta watched him leave, she wondered how broken he really was. The first time she had seen him, he had been like an avenging angel, all rage and fury and entrenched in the belief and utter surety that what he was doing was right. Now, he seemed like a tired soldier, watching as his last chance for redemption slipped through his fingers.

Vesta pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She needed to get back to work. (And the bloody medical students needed to stop staring at her like she was from another planet. What? They'd never seen an ex-prisoner of Azkaban talking to a high-ranking medwitch before?)

Oh, God, she was spending far too much time with Diana.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Snape wishes he had a license to kill, words fail Narcissa, and children reach conclusions._


	47. Death Valley Queen

Severus Snape wished he were elsewhere. He generally wished he were elsewhere, but this place was one of those special circumstances where he would rather be stuck in a room with Black and Potter for the rest of eternity than listen to these fools wax poetic about how terrible their lives were. Severus didn't particularly think they could beat the shittyness of his life, but bringing them back down to earth would require admitting that a) he was a spy, and b) he loved Lily Evans. Therefore, he was stuck in his personal hell on earth, listening to these buffoons.

"I have allergies! It's not my bloody fault I'm a snot factory!"

"The sneezing drives me insane!"

"Please don't get any snot on my new robes. I just bought them yesterday."

Severus wondered how much any deity would blame him for offing himself here and now. Because, really, listening to Antonin Doholov complain about Rudolphus Lestrange's unfortunate tendency to sneeze every five minutes was worse than listening to the (thankfully) dearly departed Barty Crouch, Jr., wonder why socks always seemed to disappear in the wash. Lucius wasn't helping, either. Why was it that whenever the lot of them gathered together for a reason other than listening to the Dark Lord give them orders, Bellatrix, the sole voice of shut-the-fuck-up-or-I'll-kill-you, always seemed to disappear? Severus never thought he would miss Bellatrix's presence, hence why he felt he would rather be stuck in a room with Black and Potter.

Maybe Severus really was a misanthrope. Then, Lestrange punched Doholov in the face, and Severus decided that he only hated idiots. Unfortunately, it just seemed most people were idiots, and Lestrange just managed to put himself this side of stupid, even if he had married Bellatrix. Doholov squawked, causing Lestrange to roll his eyes and sit down next to Lucius again to continue discussing the plan to infiltrate the Ministry. Severus had to admit that the new plan did seem like it would work, not that he was particularly planning on telling Dumbledore about it. In fact, it was Severus's belief that Voldemort might as well know the whole prophecy. Really, there was no reason that Voldemort knowing the whole thing would jeopardize the war effort, especially not when Severus took into account the reason that no one had been able to kill Voldemort thus far. Speaking of which, Regulus was a complete idiot.

"What do you think, Snape?" Lucius asked, sounding intelligent for once. The only problem was that Snape had no idea what Lucius was talking about.

Lestrange tapped his fingers on the table and explained, "Lucius here thinks the best way to get Potter into the Department of Mysteries is by sending a fake vision to say that one of his friends is trapped. That requires catching said child for good measure. I say we make the captured person one of the adults in the Order. That way, Potter doesn't have easy access to the theoretical prisoner, and we don't actually have to catch anyone. Thoughts?"

"I take it you've based your idea on what happened with Arthur Weasley?" Severus asked boredly. Lestrange said that was correct, so Severus shrugged and mentioned, "Well, the barmy old codger would notice something was wrong if there were a child missing, and we'd be staring into the eyes of the full Order, but that's a risk we're going to have to take, regardless. They know we're planning to break into the Ministry, but they don't know when. Potter, of course, runs to Dumbledore every time he has a problem, so Potter may find whomever we supposedly have captured actually doing the crossword in Dumbledore's office."

"I have a plan for that," Lestrange mentioned idly. "Even if Dumbledore is scheduled to be present, which we've already taken into consideration, we'll attempt to make sure he's away from the school. Lucius tells me that the Ministry's taking more power and interfering in how Hogwarts is run. Is that not correct?" Lestrange was staring at Severus, waiting for an answer. Even after spending so many years in Azkaban, Lestrange still acted like he ran the world.

"Dolores Umbridge is one of the most unpleasant people I have ever had the misfortune of knowing," Severus replied, annoyed that the other two had brought him into this conversation. "However, what you are suggesting is correct," he conceded. "If she continues to weather away the divide between the school and the state, then she could possibly be given the permission to oust Dumbledore from his position. The downside is that this plan would require a great deal of evidence that Dumbledore was unfit to run the school, and when I say unfit, I mean what even the blood-traitors and mudbloods believe to be unfit."

"Draco tells me there are rumors of some paramilitary organization run by Potter, Weasley, and that mudblood, Granger, on behalf of Dumbledore," Lucius commented.

Severus knew of the Defense Association. He had overheard Potter and his flunkies talking about it recently. Apparently it was only a club where they practiced Defense Against the Dark Arts, even if Umbridge was convinced it was actually "Dumbledore's Army." With an exasperated sigh, Severus admitted, "I suppose that would be as good enough an excuse as any to get rid of Dumbledore. Fudge is becoming excessively paranoid, and he found a true believer in Umbridge. That said, Dumbledore isn't one to go quietly."

"Excellent. All the better," Lestrange said, with a pointed look directed towards Lucius. "Any suggestions as to who Potter would actually care was missing, then?"

"Aside from Black?" Severus asked flatly. "Lupin, I suppose, if Black's too difficult to track down. Probably not Tonks, knowing the grand hunt your wife would love to go on."

Lestrange ignored the last comment and said to Lucius, "See. I told you Potter would be more likely to rush off if he believed Black were in danger. Obviously, he's as foolish as his father." Severus tried to ignore how much this conversation sounded like two second-years arguing over how to properly make a potion. And Lestrange had been a politician?

"I never disputed the fact," Lucius retorted. "I was merely pointing out that it would be easier to subdue and capture a child than an ex-Auror."

"But the beauty of my plan was that we didn't have to bother capturing Black," Lestrange countered. Before Lucius could continue to argue, Lestrange said, "And speaking of fools, we should figure out what to do with White. I know you find the man acceptable, Severus, but this is getting out of hand. The Dark Lord has noticed that White has been near mutinous for some time, but somehow I just can't believe that Bella hasn't been able to extract any information. Regardless, White is a threat we need to neutralize."

"Narcissa doesn't want me to get involved," Lucius mentioned and was promptly ignored by both Severus and Lestrange. Lucius continued, "She believes there's something going on."

"While I acknowledge that Narcissa is indeed well-versed in the behavior of fools, she is the last person I would take advice from in this matter. After all, she had always had a soft-spot for them," Lestrange said, plainly wishing Lucius would be silent for a moment.

"White's useless," Severus reminded Lestrange. "What threat is he?"

"Severus, be sensible. White is a spy, and not just a spy but a double-agent with loyalties to the Order of the Phoenix. If threats and torture haven't dissuaded him, then there is only one option left," Lestrange argued. He frowned and asked, "Where is White, while we're on the subject? I was under the impression he was going to be here today."

"Ill," Severus replied. It had really figured. Again, Regulus was a bloody idiot. "He caught something a couple weeks ago, according to my sources," Severus explained, wishing his sources were a bit more respectable than Auriga gossiping to him over breakfast.

Lestrange stared at him with narrowed eyes before mentioning, "You have heard that silly rumor that Pettigrew is spreading, haven't you? I don't know where he comes up with these mad ideas, but he's under the strange impression that we've killed White before. Granted, I think his theory is colored by the fact that White so clearly despises him, but I'm sure Bellatrix is amused by it to no end." Severus wondered what Lestrange and his psychotic wife were arguing over this time. Normally Lestrange fawned over the eldest Black sister and only got pissy when he found out she made a cuckold out of him yet again. Lestrange never failed to be surprised every single time his wife was unfaithful. Occasionally, Severus did wonder when the Death Eaters would get their very own daytime soap.

Malfoy scoffed and declared, "I heard about that. Pettigrew's blind. Honestly."

"Lucius, please stop covering for Narcissa. Nobody blames her," Lestrange said, clearly trying to stave off a headache. Addressing Snape, Lestrange continued, "Since you've missed the latest news bulletin, you should be aware that Pettigrew thinks White's Black." After a moment, he clarified, "As in the younger and infinitely more annoying one."

"Really?" Severus said, mostly unable to say anything else. And didn't it fucking figure?

"Yes," Lestrange replied, starting to become bored. "Lucius is right in that it's a ludicrous notion, but the Dark Lord would be most angry were the theory validated."

Severus considered how to reply. "White will pay dearly, regardless," he said. There wasn't any precedent for the dead coming back to life, so there was no sure way to say that would be true. However, Regulus was indeed a bit daft, and at least Lestrange had noticed.

"I was speaking of all of us," Lestrange corrected darkly. "That it was _Pettigrew_ that noticed would be the undoing of us all. As I said, we need to neutralize the threat. Thankfully, Bellatrix has been planning on confronting White this coming meeting, so as long as Pettigrew can keep his mouth shut until Bellatrix witnesses White's reaction, the rest of us will be safe."

"The Dark Lord will still be angry with us if White is who Pettigrew says he is," Lucius pointed out. Paling a little, he continued, "And if Pettigrew is right, then Narcissa—"

"As I said, Lucius, nobody blames her. Besides, you could always argue that she was under the impression he was sincere this time," Lestrange said, steel in his voice. "Her vision has always been clouded when it came to him. Not even Bellatrix was angry with her."

Severus was—honest to God—surprised. Bellatrix was angry with everyone about everything. That she would spare her sister was almost unthinkable, although Severus had thought that if Bellatrix were to spare anyone, Narcissa would be at the top of the list. Curious, Severus asked, "What do you intend that we do about White, then?"

Lestrange raised an eyebrow and said plainly, "Kill him."

* * *

Narcissa sat in her favorite chair in the parlor, a smile plastered on her face. She loved her sister, but sometimes humoring her was quite taxing. "Of course, Bella, I agree with you completely," she said, wondering idly how much longer the diatribe would continue.

Bellatrix stared at her skeptically and asked, "Narcissa, are you sure you do not recognize White in the slightest?" Hm. Maybe Narcissa should have been listening.

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Yes, Bella. Furthermore, why would I have been paying so much attention to a half-blood? I did invite him over, but apparently I am the only one to realize that we do not want to start a feud. International politics do exist, and we would best not ignore them until we've completed our hostile takeover bid." Narcissa considered if she should order the house-elves to prepare dinner for three instead of two. Bellatrix was shaping up to take another couple of hours to calm down.

A sour look on her face, Bellatrix defended, "Well, with all of the accusations going around, I thought it pertinent to ask, especially because of the specifics."

Narcissa sighed tiredly, inwardly hoping she did not know of what her sister was speaking. "Please do not tell me another member of the Order of the Phoenix was hidden in another colleague's basement. That would be most displeasing," she complained. Shortly thereafter, Narcissa realized they had been discussing their youngest cousin and internally winced at how little attention she was paying today. Well, that normally suited her needs well, but Bellatrix was rarely fooled by Narcissa's flighty persona.

"Cissy. I meant—Oh, nevermind," Bellatrix began to protest before finishing by mumbling to herself. Taking a deep breath, she resumed, "Sister, I meant to imply that White is very much not who he says he is, and there is some concern among the rest of us that you have been keeping his true identity from us. There is the argument that you were only acting out of a misguided sense of loyalty, but he is not willingly following the Dark Lord."

Narcissa blinked and considered what Bellatrix said. She had known that Bellatrix would catch on eventually, and she had expected to be interrogated in this manner, but Narcissa had hoped there would be more time. Now there was no opportunity to warn anyone, not unless Sirius did something abominably stupid and Narcissa took advantage of the situation to publicly chastise him. "Dear sister, I have told you before. I still have no idea what you are trying to imply. Please try to obfuscate your intentions less," Narcissa requested.

Bellatrix seemed to become annoyed, and Narcissa made a note to be less glib. Visibly calming herself down, Bellatrix explained, "The only reason I have been beating around the bush is because you managed to be burned because of this mess in the past. Do you remember now, or must I be more blunt? Because, really, Narcissa, _I am losing my patience_!"

Fuming, Narcissa looked off to the side. She did not have to take this from Bella. Trying to keep her voice calm and cold, Narcissa said, "How _dare_ you. How dare you!" Standing, she walked over to the fireplace. Apparently she had less control of her emotions at the moment than she wished. Of course, her response would have been the same, regardless of the real circumstances. "You dare suggest that I would lie to you? You dare suggest that—After the way you gloated? They could hear you, you know. Both of them. And I actually felt sympathy for Sirius. And respect… Over his grave, Bella! You put him there! You bloody put him there!" Narcissa shouted, all the while cursing herself for saying so much. Damn it, she had finished crying over this. Besides, there was no reason to cry. Well, not again, anyway. Not yet.

"He betrayed us. It was necessary," Bella replied coldly, disgusted by Narcissa's display.

At that, Narcissa threw caution to the wind and exclaimed, "He was nineteen! _Nineteen_! Practically a child!" She knew she shouldn't have started the argument, but Bellatrix had no right to speak. What had happened was entirely her fault. Glaring, Narcissa reminded her sister, "And if you hadn't suggested he join in the first place, he wouldn't have taken a side. Everyone knew it. He was too gentle to make a proper Death Eater. I know you may think him a coward, but you're the one that forced him to make the decision that killed him."

Bellatrix scoffed and calmly replied, "Narcissa, you let silly past loyalties cloud your judgement. It has always been your one true fault." Apparently deciding to forgive Narcissa's outburst, Bellatrix sighed and said, "Sister, trust me when I say I wish it had been different. Yes, I do acknowledge that recruiting our cousin was a mistake. However, it was his own fault that his preference laid in a place other than what was proper for our station. Imagine, he could have taken up with some lowly mudblood whore, and what would you have done then, Narcissa? Would you still have counted him as blood? Was it not better to cauterize the wound before it became infected?" She shook her head and continued, "Trust me, Cissy, it is was for the best. This way, Aunt Walburga didn't have to suffer the shame of two disowned sons."

Narcissa stared at Bellatrix, unwilling to let that be the end. How angry her sister would be if she knew the truth. The reality rankled Narcissa, but at least her cousin had taken a half-blood as his wife instead of a mudblood. In the latter case, she did not believe she could have even feigned congratulations at the news, even for him. Frowning, Narcissa admitted, "I suppose you're right." Sitting down in her chair once more, she asked, "Bella, what exactly is Pettigrew alleging? Re—our cousin is dead and buried. We were there."

"That rat thinks our cousin is alive and betraying us once more under another name and is in fact the man we know as Antares White," Bellatrix began. Shrugging, she admitted, "I initially thought the idea was ludicrous, but Rudolphus made a very good point. He fears the Dark Lord will punish all of us if the rat's pet theory turns out to be true."

Narcissa could see through the lie all too easily. Raising an eyebrow, Narcissa corrected, "You mean that you've been under that impression for quite some time, don't you?"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and demanded, "And what if I have?" Upon receiving no reply but a stare, she continued neutrally, "Yes, it has been my belief that White is who Pettigrew alleges he is. White gives in far too easily, and I have always found his reactions to me suspect. I barely had to try in our last session to acquire the information I wanted."

Narcissa nodded distractedly. She found the casual allusion to the torture slightly disturbing, but Narcissa knew that Bellatrix distanced herself from her job, which was the reason why she had never asked her older sister what had happened between her and their cousin. "Has he said anything of importance to the war effort? Or did he clearly allude to his identity?"

Clearly angry, Bellatrix said, "He only refers to the former, but it is all what Snape has already informed us. My guess is based on his behavior, Narcissa, not what he admits."

Narcissa furrowed her eyebrows, annoyed. Why could Bellatrix not give her more to work with? She needed to be convincing, and the only reaction that came to mind and seemed perfectly reasonable with what she was trying to convey included a great deal of shouting and ended in throwing Bellatrix out of her house. Clearly, that was not an option. Narcissa decided to go a different route and be honest. Pensively, she began, "If he is Regulus, then…" She bit her lip and looked off to the side purely for the theatrical effect. Deeming that enough time had gone by, Narcissa turned back to look at Bellatrix and demanded, "Then how could you do that to him? How could you torture him? What if he had reformed, even if he married a half-blood?"

Bellatrix was as unmoved and said in a stone cold tone, "As I said, Narcissa. He took up with a mudblood whore and—even worse—sired two half-breed brats on the wench. Even if he could have been forgiven before, he has betrayed his blood, and that—as you well know—is unforgivable." Bellatrix took note of the displeased look Narcissa had been unable to keep off her face. With an exasperated sigh, she patiently argued, "Cissy, I know you cared for him greatly, but you must admit he would be beyond redemption."

Narcissa felt a flare of anger when she heard the last, because she knew she should have thought her sister was right. She should have turned Regulus in immediately, and she should not have still loved him. He betrayed the Dark Lord, he betrayed his family, and he married a half-blood. Narcissa cursed herself for forgiving him, but she had always forgiven him. He was more like her little brother than her cousin, and as such he was one of the only reasons Narcissa ever found herself agreeing with Sirius. Sounding defeated, Narcissa conceded, "You're right."

"Good," Bellatrix said definitively. Narcissa did not appreciate that Bellatrix felt the need to assure herself that Narcissa would tell the truth, especially in this fashion. She should have known Narcissa would lie. It was simple math. Bellatrix was outnumbered by two, so it was only logical that Narcissa pick the different side. In an attempt to be subtle and catch her sister in her lies, Bellatrix reaffirmed her sister's faith and finally asked, "So, sister, has White said anything to you? I know you have spoken to him a number of times in the recent past."

Thoughtfully, Narcissa replied, "No. He had a bit of a nervous breakdown when I tried to talked to him about his wife, but aside from that…" She grimaced, again trying to ignore the displeasure she felt at her cousin's choice of a wife. Despite that, Bella looked displeased, and Narcissa realized she needed to defend her actions yet again. She explained, "The woman is part of a prominent pureblood family, even if she is a half-blood, and the Whites have not exactly forgiven our family for what our ancestor supposedly committed during the rule of James I."

Disgruntled, Bellatrix muttered, "At least I still would have a legitimate reason to hate White, then."

"Don't be childish, Bella," Narcissa chastised. Why was she the only mature one out of the fou—five of them? Really, if it weren't for her and the sister she refused to think about, the entire family would be mad. Since that was currently the public's view of the family, it would be most unpleasant for the common rabble to be right about something for once.

Indignant, Bellatrix retorted, "I'm not being childish." Narcissa was not convinced, but her sister then explained, "He is not a sympathetic character. He associates with mudbloods and blood-traitors, and that is already a capital offence. If he is our cousin, then you know what should await him." Bellatrix was wearing a dark look, and Narcissa wondered if she could argue.

She felt irrationally nervous. Trying not to betray her disquiet, Narcissa asked calmly, "Could you execute him again? Could you really?" She didn't think she could bear that. Yes, she had finished mourning years ago, but he wasn't really dead. This was the exact reason that she hated it when people who were supposed to be dead showed up and put a monkey wrench in her plans. Also, she didn't want Regulus to die. That may have been a large factor, not that Narcissa would willingly admit it. Upset, she argued, "Just because he made some mistakes—"

Bellatrix frowned, irritated, but she patiently reminded her sister, "This is why none of us trust your feelings on the matter, Cissy." With a sigh, she continued gently, "He hasn't been the boy you knew and loved for almost sixteen years. Such a fool to do what he did, but he is guilty. You know that in your heart, just as you must know I wish it weren't so. Both of our cousins should be fighting at my side—at the Dark Lord's side—but that blood-traitor Potter corrupted one, and a mudblood bitch seduced the other. They both deserve what's coming to them. I only wish we could have salvaged the bloodline."

What Bellatrix had said was wrong, and Narcissa knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Sirius would have never kneeled before Voldemort in any world, and that made him more of a Black, not less of one. He bowed for no one, and if he did, then he may have looked like her cousin, but he wasn't Sirius. And Regulus… If he were as cold as Bellatrix wished he were, he wouldn't be himself, either. He may have had a plethora of faults, but he tried to be true to himself, if nothing else. "So you really could do it again, couldn't you?" Narcissa demanded. "You could kill him without a thought."

Bellatrix's face went blank, and after a moment of reflection, she replied honestly, "No. I would mourn him this time." A little more quietly, she continued with a hint of sadness, "Before, it was a mercy. I tried to be quick, but I must not have cut deep enough. There was so much blood…" At the end, Bellatrix had a glazed look on her face. Snapping out of her stupor, Bellatrix resumed strongly and ended definitively, "I will regret it, Cissy, and I am sorry that it will pain you so, but it must be done."

"Will you do the same to our former sister? And what about Sirius? He won't take any of this lying down. You know he'll fight until he breathes his last," Narcissa asked pointedly.

Bellatrix sighed exasperatedly and looked away. "I'll just have to kill him second, after his brother," she muttered. "It will be a bit more difficult, but it's not like he'd win in a fair fight." Not for the first time, Narcissa wondered what had gone on between her sister and her cousin in Azkaban. From what little she had heard, apparently there had been verbal sparring so spectacular that Death Eaters down the hall from them remembered some of it. At least, that's what Lucius reported, but he was slightly prone to exaggeration.

Narcissa chose not to mention that Bellatrix had completely avoided the subject of Andromeda, which probably meant that she was still unsure as to whether or not she could take Andy on. To be honest, Narcissa felt that Andromeda had probably stopped practicing dueling once she left their parents' house. Of course, since Andromeda had always soundly defeated Bellatrix whenever they sparred, Bellatrix had a bit of a complex. "Of course, Bella."

Bellatrix raised and eyebrow and said, "You disagree?"

Narcissa frowned, hesitating. There was no purpose to further arguing, but she did not want to just leave the conversation at that. "No. They are traitors to the Cause, but your lack of sympathy for the man you believe to be our cousin is astounding," Narcissa replied firmly.

Bellatrix appeared to be furious, incensed that Narcissa had not dropped the subject now that it seemed she had agreed. Reining in her anger, Bellatrix said through clenched teeth, "If he were willing to correct his mistake—"

"'Correct his mistake'?" Narcissa repeated in disbelief, amazed her sister could say that. Clearly angry, she continued, "Bellatrix, if you mean to say you would only forgive him his indiscretions if he murdered his wife and children, then speak plainly! The man at least deserves that!" Narcissa paused for a moment before deciding to continue. She may have been about to hit one of Bellatrix's few sore spots, but Narcissa couldn't find it in herself to care. Bellatrix had as much as asked for it, because the only reason she would use such inflammatory language was to receive this response. Darkly, Narcissa spat, "Just because you could kill Rudolphus without batting an eyelash doesn't mean everyone else feels that way!" Bellatrix rolled her eyes and scoffed disdainfully. "And, for God's sake, Bella, people normally hesitate before killing their children!" Narcissa continued acidly, but she regretted her words the moment they left her mouth.

Bellatrix froze, anger slowly building in her eyes. Coldly, she growled, "Why do you think I stopped loving that bastard?" Shaking with anger, Bellatrix's voice was layered with disappointment as she demanded, "Do you think what everyone else does? That I'm … having an affair with the Dark Lord? I expected better of you, Cissy."

Narcissa would have liked nothing more to take back what she said. For all her faults, she still couldn't quite bear her older sister's genuine disappointment, and Narcissa could only be angry with herself for mentioning what she had. She started, attempting to apologize, "No, Bella. I only meant…" Narcissa trailed off well aware there was nothing she could say. After a brief pause, she weakly apologized, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up."

Quietly, Bellatrix murmured, "It's not fair, Narcissa. I did everything right. We did. But when… It wasn't right, Cissy. It just wasn't right." Pain had seeped into her voice by the end, and with her tone colored by anger, Bellatrix continued, "He doesn't deserve to be happy. He did everything wrong, and he's happy. Why didn't he suffer?"

Narcissa wasn't quite sure who Bellatrix was referring to at that point, but she was reasonably certain that Bellatrix was referring to Regulus. Trying not to sound pleading, Narcissa begged, "At least spare the children, if you must kill their parents."

Bellatrix nodded distractedly, as if she didn't quite register what she agreed to. A thought dawned on her, and a cold, dark smile slowly crept across her face. Narcissa could only hope that Bellatrix had not decided that she had just given her blessing. That said, what she had said was as good a reply as Bellatrix would receive. The elder sister then decisively said, "Well, Narcissa, I'll be sure to tell our cousin you bought leniency for the mongrels with his life."

Narcissa restrained herself from appearing upset. She had lost the argument fairly, as much as she hated the outcome, and so she had to respect Bellatrix's decision. Feeling far more apprehensive than she would like, Narcissa started, "So you really do intend to kill—"

A combination of annoyed and frustrated, Bellatrix snapped, "Yes, Narcissa. For the last time, Regulus will die at my hand, whether you like it or not."

Trying one last time to protest, Narcissa interjected, "Sister—"

"No, Cissy," Bellatrix said sternly, cutting her youngest sister off. "This is not a discussion. Accept the truth and move on. I want this war to end as badly as you do, and there will be casualties. Our cousin's death is long overdue."

Unable to find a new way to deny her meaning, Narcissa could only feel defeated as she murmured, "Of course, Bella. You're right."

* * *

John Smith felt nervous, but he usually felt nervous. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was genetic, but his parents never felt nervous most of the time, and that usually meant that it wasn't genetic. That said, apparently genetics were a lot more complicated than he thought, but he wasn't so sure he was wrong about this. Granted, his brothers and sisters thought he was a bit of a loon and adopted, so maybe John was right and his constant lack of focus was genetic.

Well, that would explain why Professor Snape usually avoided him during class and had assigned Macha to be his lab partner. Macha was really good at potions and rarely ever messed one up, although there was that one time when the potion exploded and Snape almost gave them detention for no apparent reason. After that, Professor Snape had actually set him up with a tutor, which was apparently really weird and nigh unheard of. Granted, his tutor was Neville Longbottom, so John wasn't quite sure what to make of that, even if Neville was really good at teaching and a Gryffindor. In any case, John may have been making very slow progress with Potions, but at least his Herbology grade was steadily improving.

In the here and now, however, John was very antsy. He was sitting at a table with his best friend—well, at least he thought she was his best friend—in the library. They did go to the library frequently, but he didn't really expect that they would spend so much time there. He was still kind of irritated that Macha was letting Malfoy get to her, but there didn't seem to be anything he could say to get her to think any differently.

Macha looked really serious as she read through the class yearbooks from 1978 to 1982, because apparently her dad never really was all that specific on when he graduated from secondary school. She knew when he began university, but she wasn't sure when he had finished his earlier schooling. Apparently, some time after his graduation he got in a really bad car accident, which was how he had accumulated most of his scars, and didn't go back to university for a while, but John wasn't so sure that was as logical an explanation as Macha thought it was.

Speaking of Macha, she declared, "So, John, I just finished the yearbook for 1979, and I've come to make an executive decision: this is taking too bloody long." Sighing frustratedly, she complained, "I haven't found anyone who even vaguely looks like my dad, but Malfoy's a git, and I want to disprove him, but I can't find Dad in any of the books. I mean, it really shouldn't be this difficult. I mean, I would have expected him to be in a club or two!"

"Well, you do have three more yearbooks to go," John reminded her, gesturing to the offending volumes. "And we can take solace in the fact that the haircuts should be improving."

Macha rolled her eyes. "Very funny, John," she said. Frowning, she continued, "I just can't believe that Dad would lie about this. I mean, why on earth would he? I know my uncle was in the Order of the Phoenix during the last war, but none of the history books have information about it yet, just a list of semi-important people who managed to martyr themselves, and I know my uncle couldn't have been all that important."

John considered the statement and mentioned, "You do know that if the universe has a sense of humor that your uncle will end up on that list, right?"

Macha stared at John without amusement and deadpanned, "Well, I hope not. If my uncle dies, my Dad'll get even more depressed." She began to leaf through the yearbook from 1980. While she flipped to the section for the club photographs, she continued, "Of course, that's assuming that my uncle isn't already dead. Maybe he is on that list. That said, I couldn't find him in either of the two yearbooks we've looked at already, even if we've discovered my aunt Artemesia had a severe lack of fashion sense when she went here."

John snatched the yearbook and looked at the photos on the two pages it was currently open to. With a snicker, he commented, "I didn't know we had an Arithmancy Club back in the day. What else is in here?" He flipped a page or two, and his eyes widened. "We had a Dueling Club?" John asked in surprise, looking back up at Macha. "Why don't we have one anymore?"

Macha sighed again in frustration and explained, "Yes, we had a Dueling Club. From the looks of the photos I've seen, most of the people in it were in the last war." At John's disbelieving look, Macha said, "Yes, I did cross-reference them all. I assumed, seeing as I found most of the names familiar. Really, John, I'm not going about this stupidly."

John shrugged, taking one last look at the photo before handing the book back to Macha, who turned the page and looked at the next photograph. John leaned back in his chair and examined the ceiling of the library as Macha continued to page through the book. John had started trying to balance his quill on his nose by the time Macha muttered, "Oh, screw this. The Quidditch pictures are so boring!" He heard a couple pages turn and wondered if it was really that smart to just flip through the section. After all, not every student needed to be in the main section. Her father could have quit halfway through his seventh year, or he could have moved away or not submitted any photos for his page. There were any number of reasons that her father could have been missing from the book.

Apparently, however, Macha's dad wasn't missing, because Macha made a little shriek and slammed the book shut all of a sudden. John lost his balance and fell backwards in his chair. His head hurt a little, but he righted the chair and sat down again, looking at Macha inquisitively. She was as white as a sheet and staring at the yearbook in horror. Gradually becoming more and more concerned, John asked, "Macha, what's wrong? What did you find?"

"Nothing," Macha squeaked, clearly torn between pushing the yearbook away and hiding it where no one would find it. "Nothing at all."

John winced. "That bad, huh?" he asked. Macha ignored him. "Ah. Well, at least you're not related to a Death Eater or anything, 'cause that'd suck. I mean—Actually, Malfoy might start to cut you some slack if that's true. He probably agrees with all that stuff." Macha continued to be silent, and John corrected himself, "Oh. I'm really sorry. Er, well, at least you're not related to someone really unpleasant, like Snape, or someone really arrogant as hell, like Malfoy, or—even worse—Black." Macha stayed silent. John wondered which he had accidentally gotten right. His friend was nowhere near as socially unfortunate as Black, but she wasn't quite greasy enough to be related to Snape. This was a real quandary, because John could easily imagine Macha related to Malfoy. They were both kind of stuck up and kind of obnoxious. Should he admit that was what he was thinking? Well, at least Malfoy was better than a teacher. Bowing his head, John said, trying to repent, "I'm really sorry you're related to Malfoy."

Macha seemed to be making a difficult decision before she let her head fall to the table and started sobbing. John sat across from her, feeling understandably awkward. Macha cried, "It's not bloody fair!" John really should have tried to comfort her, shouldn't he have? He made to stand to go sit next to her, but she exclaimed, "I hate him! Why didn't he say…? Why didn't he say anything? He could have said something!"

John bit his lip and said, "Well, Malfoy _is_ an asshole—"

"I wasn't talking about Malfoy!" Macha shouted, glaring angrily at John, who recoiled a bit in surprise and fear. More quietly, she hissed, "Even if Malfoy is a bastard, too." She seemed to be shaking in fury, and John wondered how intelligent it was to continue to sit with her.

It took him another moment to realize what she was getting at. "Oh," John realized. "Your dad." Well, this certainly was a one-eighty. What the hell had her father done that made her so angry? She had clearly found the right page, so maybe there was some more information? Wait, John had mentioned Death Eaters already, and Macha had been in shut-up mode. Oh, hell. "Your dad's a Death Eater?" John realized, astounded. "Wow. That's weird, your mom being a half-blood and all. I thought Death Eaters hate everyone who isn't a pureblood?"

Macha sniffed. "Why didn't he tell me?" she murmured, making John wonder if he should go find Professor Vector. This seemed like the right time to acquire reinforcements. "Why would Daddy do something like this?" she continued, starting to cry again, her flash of anger dissipated. "He didn't need to—to say much, but… Why? Why wouldn't he say…"

John moved to sit next to her and, feeling very awkward, put an arm around her shoulder. She continued to cry onto the table, seemingly ignoring his presence. John felt kind of hurt that Macha didn't even seem to notice him, but when he tried to remove his arm, she implored, "Please, don't…" John felt marginally less useless. Macha shoved the book toward him and hiccuped, "Look in the B's."

John felt apprehensive, but he opened the book and flipped to the right section. Macha was curled up in her chair, staring blankly at the table and making every effort to ignore the book. John flipped through the beginning of the alphabet and didn't find anyone who really looked like Macha. It was only at that point he realized he might have been better served looking for someone who looked like Macha's dad. Oh, and John thought this experience could not have gotten any worse. Hey, that guy looked familiar but was completely irrelevant. John would try to figure that out later.

Being a bit more careful as he looked through the students whose last name began with the letter B, John realized he really had stuck his foot in his mouth this time. On the bright side, at least he knew it would be a lot easier for Macha to find out why her dad was so weird. John realized something of utmost importance. "Oh, no. Macha! You are related to Malfoy!"

Macha tried to send him an annoyed look, but she only came off as looking even more upset. "That's not funny, John," she murmured, apparently unwilling to continue to engage in conversation. After a moment, she realized with some fear, "I don't even know him. He's been lying to me for all this time, and I just don't know anymore." She looked like she was about to start another round of sobbing. "And what about Mom? Does she know?" Macha demanded of no one. With shaky breaths, she continued, "For Merlin's sake, Dad has to have killed people. How much of him's fake? Does he even care? Does he even care about us? What if he—and I can't tell Leo… He'd freak out so bad." Macha sniffed, desperately wishing she didn't have to use her sleeve as a tissue.

John really had no idea what to say. He couldn't reassure her about anything. Her dad was a Death Eater or had been, and neither John nor Macha had any idea why. "Well, Macha, your dad may have been trying to keep from upsetting you," John suggested, grasping at straws.

"By what? Lying about who he is? He's related to one of the worst of the Death Eaters, and he's one of them! What's there to be embarrassed about? If he's that zealous, then what's there to be ashamed of?" Macha demanded, fire inching back into her voice. John wasn't sure if he liked the anger better than the misery.

"Professor Black's related to Death Eaters, too, and he hates all of them," John reminded her, trying to be reassuring until he realized that may have been the worst possible thing to say. "Okay, nevermind, that was a bad example. A _very_ bad example."

Macha laughed bitterly and said half-hysterically, "No, that was an excellent point. It also explains everything. Why Dad keeps trying to get on Professor Black's good side, why he's been disappearing so often, why he never talks about my uncle, and why my uncle hasn't once mentioned his brother." She grimaced and corrected acidly, "Not the blood one, anyway."

John could think of a million completely unrelated reasons, but he highly doubted that Macha would listen. When she got angry, she stopped listening. "Well, don't those books you've been reading say anything? Do they even mention your dad?" John asked, hoping he could at least get Macha to see some reason.

"Yes," Macha replied darkly before she bitterly continued, "He was always associated with Bellatrix Lestrange, and there is little doubt that he was at every major battle from the time he joined to where I've read to. I should probably go reread and see if I can figure out which side of the blood-traitor argument he was on. Considering how he's been acting around our professor, I suppose he was against the killing, but he's proven himself a good actor, so who knows."

John felt very uneasy. There wasn't really a way to calm her down. Not one he could think of, in any case. They couldn't talk to an adult about it, because a) Snape was creepy and thus not to be trusted, b) Slughorn was worse, c) the Headmaster was loony, d) Macha's aunt might not know about any of this, and e) everyone else John could think of was elsewhere. Maybe he could try to apply logic to the situation again. What was the most reasonable explanation for Macha's dad to try to be friends with his brother, aside from the really obvious one of they haven't seen each other in forever and probably parted on bad terms? Actually, that was pretty logical, wasn't it? Macha wouldn't accept that, though. It was far too simple.

Macha looked to be on the verge of tears as she muttered, "I hate him."

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Regulus chills with Barty and later loses his temper.  
_


	48. Sentimentality Doesn't Look Good On Me

Regulus Black swore. He was at the end of his bloody rope, and he couldn't bloody take it anymore. That he had actually fallen ill hadn't helped in the slightest. He was not looking forward to the next Death Eater meeting. He had missed two when he had been ill, and thankfully Snape had covered for him—Merlin knew why—but there would be hell to pay.

Hell, this had not been a good month. He had mostly gotten over what had happened with Bellatrix, but falling ill had complicated things. Diana had been decent enough conversation when she was around, but he had been left with his own thoughts for far too long. It had taken far too long for his tastes, but he had eventually managed to remember that he wasn't an invalid and found a book to read. Vesta had seemed so angry with him those first couple of nights. Well, she said she hadn't been, and he really did believe her, but he just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had been.

In any case, he had tried to go into work this morning, but Lafayette had immediately marched him back out of the embassy and told him to get some sleep. Regulus hadn't been particularly aware that he still looked like he had been run over by a train, but he did, at least according to everyone Lafayette had convinced not to encourage him. He didn't want to return home, though. He had been in that house too much for the past two weeks, and that was enough.

It was near lunchtime now. Regulus considered going to St. Mungo's and finding Vesta, but he knew that was not a wise decision. Most of the witches and wizards he had trained with and under probably still worked there. Sometimes he still wondered how he had managed to get into that program. Ha! What was he thinking? It was because of his last name. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't very good at magic. At least, he wasn't good at it anymore. Once upon a time, he had even excelled, but after what had happened after he quit the Death Eaters, he had barely been able to pull off an average spell. Well, an average healing spell. He could still fight, could still brew potions, but none of that was useful. He hated it.

He _did_ love history, though. He didn't regret that. After he had recovered enough and reapplied to university, he had tried to start over in the sciences, but he hadn't even been able to make it through a single lab in the anatomy class. He still cursed himself for that, but if he hadn't switched classes, then he never would have properly started over. Yes, he would never stop wondering what would have happened if he had become a medwizard, but he was happy. Or, at least he had been happy.

Everything had gone so wrong in the past couple months. Sirius was still an idiot, but what had Regulus honestly expected? In what world would Sirius actually take notice of what was right in front of him? And, because apparently the universe thought it had been too kind recently, Macha had stopped writing for no apparent reason.

"Reg? Hullo? You in there?"

Regulus sighed and swatted Barty's hand away. "Yes. I'm fine," he replied, resisting the urge to collapse into a puddle. Usually, one didn't do that in public.

"You don't look fine," Barty commented, trying not to look ridiculous as he drank his beer through a straw. Regulus started to wonder if any of them were really adults or just over-grown teenagers, because at the moment he was strongly reminded of sixth year.

"Well, I am," Regulus asserted before he conceded, "Well, not really, but could you please stop drawing attention to yourself? We are trying to be non-attention-drawing, remember? I know this should be fine, but there could be Aurors anywhere."

Barty smirked and mentioned, "You know, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Mad-Eye Moody. Trust me, I'd know." After taking another sip of his beer (still through the straw), he explained, "I mean, I've nothing against the guy. In fact, I always kind of admired him in a wow-you-annoy-my-dad-even-more-than-I-do kind of way, but when you're not an Auror and still start emulating him, there's something wrong."

"Barty, how do you manage to be so bloody insipid all the time?" Regulus idly asked.

"Firstly, Black, wrong adjective," Barty began, having decided that going to a crowded Muggle pub meant he could drop all pretense of being stealthy. Regulus almost voiced his reservations, but it was far too much effort. "Secondly, the only company I've had for the past two weeks is Dorcas bloody Meadowes. How else do you think I'm going to respond?"

With another sigh, Regulus murmured, "I thought you liked Dorcas."

Barty looked a little flustered, which gave Regulus enough time to dispose of that bloody straw. "Yeah, in _third-year_. Christ, Reg, get with the times," Barty corrected a tad defensively, stealing the straw back. "She's a nice enough bird, that's for sure, but she's a little whacked."

"Barty, you spent about a decade under the Imperius curse in your father's house. You're a little whacked," Regulus pointed out, going back to rearranging his food. He didn't really feel all that hungry, but he knew he needed to eat. Maybe he should have gone with the soup instead.

Frowning, Barty asked, "Really, Reg, are you all right? Merlin, I can't believe I just noticed, but you really do look pretty bad. I thought you said you'd gotten over your cold or whatever." Barty looked concerned, but Regulus had a feeling that he had been holding off on mentioning anything for whatever reason. Regulus didn't really mind, to be honest.

"I have, Barty. I've just not been getting a lot of sleep lately," Regulus reassured him, suppressing a cough. Of course, the lack of sleep was worrying, but he wasn't going to let Barty know that. He was just thankful that Barty was running off old information.

"In a I-have-the-weirdest-dreams-in-the-universe kind of way or the Dorcas-really-needs-to-keep-her-mouth-shut kind of way?" Barty asked, sipping his beer through that damned straw again. If Barty didn't stop that, Regulus wasn't to be held responsible for his actions.

"The latter," Regulus replied, still thinking about why it was a bad idea to tackle his best friend across the table. Right, this was a public place, and Aurors were everywhere. Also, Sirius had the best and worst timing in the universe, and regardless of the outcome, Aurors would appear, because Sirius was like catnip to them for reasons beyond Regulus's comprehension.

"Ah. Sorry, mate. Bellatrix's a bitch," Barty commented, finally removing the straw of his own accord. Apparently he had noticed that Regulus was about to snap. As Regulus realized what had just transpired in the conversation, Barty continued, "Look, I'm not going to pry. Hell, we both know I don't need to, but I just want you to know that I'm on your side about this."

"I know, Barty," Regulus murmured, starting to feel sorry for himself again. Oh, this was what he was trying to avoid! Hopefully Barty wouldn't continue on the topic at all. Regulus trusted him, so there was no reason to start talking about trust again.

After what seemed like a tense moment of silence, Barty stopped looking out the window pensively and began, "So. Sharks. Have you ever wondered if they'd find something they didn't think was palatable? I mean, aside from monkey meat, but they eat suits of armor, so—"

"What kind of sharks are we talking about?" Regulus asked, glad Barty had or at least appeared to have no attention span and a massive memory for utterly unrelated topics.

Barty appeared puzzled for a moment before mentioning, "You know, I'm not quite sure myself. I suppose we're talking either about the really bloodthirsty ones or the ones with the really big mouths." After a short pause, he continued, "And I think I just described all the competent Death Eaters."

"Sev's competent," Regulus protested listlessly, deciding he really should try to eat.

Barty sighed overdramatically and agreed, "Of course. How could I forget?"

They sat in silence for a moment while Regulus let himself cough then hesitantly picked at his lunch. Barty seemed to look worried again. "Look, Reg, I don't mean to nag, but do you really feel okay? You're as white as a sheet, and I know you well enough to know you're only going to feel worse if you keep eating," Barty said. "Remember that time in sixth-year?"

"I had a stomach virus," Regulus reminded him. The other Slytherins wouldn't talk to him for a month after that, even if he had been a sixth-year. "And, yes, I do feel kind of shitty, but as I said, I needed some fresh air."

"The air in here is three-tenths smoke," Barty wisely pointed out. He shrugged and continued, "But it doesn't seem to be affecting you that much, so I'll leave it alone." There was a gap of tense silence before Barty asked, "When's the next meeting?"

"Sirius asked you to ask me, didn't he?" Regulus accused, lunch forgotten. His face flush with anger, he growled, "Look, it doesn't matter, all right? What happens happens, and there isn't anything you can do about it!" He sighed shakily, which almost brought on a coughing fit, and tried to calm down. He shouldn't be going off like this on Barty. Christ, Regulus hated losing his temper with his best friend.

Barty looked a little stunned. The last time Regulus had snapped like this was just barely before they had stopped talking. Grimacing, Barty said seriously, "Look, Reg, I'm sorry I asked, and, no, your brother didn't ask me to do an interrogation. We both know he'd do that on his own. I was just wondering." At Regulus's dark look, Barty defended, "Not like that. I've had it with them. I'm not looking to rejoin. No, I was just worried. You know, so the rest of us could have some warning this time."

Regulus held back a glare. He understood the sentiment, but that did not mean he liked it. It didn't matter, in any case. It wasn't like they would stop him from going. Slowly reining in his anger, he said, "Right now, that's no one's business but my own. If I fuck up again, well, then I'll pay the price. How long it takes for me to show up again is another matter entirely."

Clearly attempting not to look frustrated, Barty said, "Reg, be reasonable. Even if any given one of us is worried sick, we'd rather know when we should have the number to St. Mungo's at the ready." He shook his head and continued, "Look, I know you find this sort of treatment patronizing, but I know I'm not alone in my worrying. Merlin, remember what it was like during the war? Your brother was bordering on neurotic, and that was without him knowing what was going on by half! When he figures all this out, there will be hell to pay. Really, Reg, this is my self-preservation instinct acting up. I mean, I am worried, but that's not the point."

Regulus glowered, resorting to rearranging the food on his plate to take his mind off the conversation. He had been trying to avoid this. How had he fucked that up? Oh, right. Barty's ten-second attention span. Maybe if he waited longer, Barty would start rambling again.

"Regulus, I'm not kidding," Barty said, further annoying his friend. He looked out the window again before he apologized, "Look, I'm sorry I brought it up. I know you're really upset about Sirius, but you shouldn't take it out on yourself like this. Is it really so bad that he cares? I didn't get far in psychology, we both know that, but have you ever considered that maybe he's treating you like, well, you because he misses you?" Barty cut Regulus off before the younger man could interrupt, "Hey, don't even suggest that you're replacing Potter. The Spawn of Potter is replacing Potter. That's been clear to me for more than a year and a half, during most of which I never even spoke to Sirius—thank the Lord."

"He's still trying to replace me, then," Regulus murmured, starting to feel maudlin again. God, how he wished he could strip away his emotions. Fuck, why did this still hurt? He and Sirius hadn't been proper brothers for going on twenty years, so why did he feel this way?

Barty sighed and suggested, "Reg, you know that there is an alternative to this."

Regulus shook his head and coughed. (Why wasn't he getting better? It had been almost three weeks by now.) He said unsteadily, "Sirius would have said something. He wouldn't just let me think that—that…" He was not going to break down in public. He was not going to break down in public. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and exhaled. Struggling not to grimace, Regulus resumed, "No, Barty. He'd have told me, because he's the better one of us. The stronger one. Hell, if I'd done the right thing in the first place, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." He needed to go home. If he knew he'd feel like this, he wouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning. With far too much effort, Regulus tried to still his traitorous hands.

Barty seemed a little angry at that, but he had always been better at holding his temper. Ignoring the last, Barty demanded, "Do you really think he's the same person, Reg? Really? After more than half a year, you still haven't realized?"

"Of course I know he's different!" Regulus cried, cursing himself for the outburst. "How could I not? It's my fault… All my fault." He hoped no one was paying attention. God, he didn't want to make a scene. As he tried to calm himself down again, he wiped his eyes.

Barty frowned before he put his hand on Regulus's shoulder. "I'm sorry," Barty murmured as his friend continued to try to collect himself. Self-effacingly, he continued, "Christ, you help me out of my makeshift prison cell, and how do I repay you?"

"It doesn't matter," Regulus said weakly.

"No, it does," Barty corrected. "You're still sick _and_ emotionally distressed. Really, I should have known better." Regulus considered protesting, but he knew that Barty was right and that he should let Barty apologize. With a smile, he said, "You really need to take a break. The world's not going to end if you take a day off, Reg."

Regulus almost corrected him, but there was no point. "I know," he admitted. God, he was so tired of this. How on earth had he managed the first time around?

"Yeah, I believe that," Barty said flatly. Regulus didn't even attempt to glare at him. Fishing for a topic that wouldn't set Regulus off, Barty inquired, "So, how's your wife?"

"She's fine. Worried, but fine," Regulus replied. Managing to pull off a smile, he continued, "She would be doing better if I wasn't so hopeless. She's not happy with how long it's taking me to recover. What about you? You all right?"

Barty nodded and said, "Yeah, I guess. Remember, Dorcas is the only person I've had really any contact with for the past two weeks while you've been lying about, doing nothing." He shrugged and admitted, "I suppose I could be doing worse. I could be stuck with Snape or—worse—your brother. No offense, by the way. You know how well we get along."

Regulus actually smiled at that, surprising himself, and said, "Like cats and dogs."

Barty raised his eyebrows and disagreed, "No, that's you two. I'm more like a hapless rabbit or fox or whatever you lot use hunting dogs to catch." Regulus decided to look unamused, at which point Barty revised, "Fine, us lot. Still. The point remains." Playing with fire, Barty asked, "Speaking of which, when's the next meeting?"

"Barty, you already asked that; I already yelled at you," Regulus reminded him.

Barty stared at his best friend like said friend needed a brain transplant. Regulus wasn't much against the idea at the moment. Maybe he would luck-out and get one that wasn't as apt to wax melancholy. Barty elucidated, "Reg, I meant the Order. Hence the name-dropping of your brother and Snape. And you, to a lesser extent, but you don't really count. Still, God, Merlin, the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore know your brother is the last bloody person to be a Death Eater."

"Right," Regulus said after a moment, feeling thoroughly ridiculous. He tried to remember when the next meeting was. "I think it's on next Friday," he replied hesitantly. "I wasn't paying much attention the last time I saw Sirius. He keeps track of all this stuff. Actually, I think Dorcas has finally decided to unveil herself. I have no idea why she took so long to decide, but who argues with Dorcas? Aside from you."

"I don't argue with her that often," Barty protested. He was lying. If they were in a room for more than five minutes alone, there was usually havoc of some sort. At least, that was how it had been. Nervously, he asked, "Do you think I should stay at the flat? Or should we cause the argument to end all arguments? I'll even apologize to—"

Regulus blinked. "What?" he interrupted. "You mean, you actually want to fight?"

Barty sighed and muttered, "And there it is." Clearly, he replied, "Yes, Reg. Is it that hard to believe? Fuck, you know I don't give a damn about the Muggles. Hell, the only reason I got caught up in this mess was 'cause of Father, and I fixed that, so I might as well do the decent thing for once. Maybe prove that Mum wasn't wrong to…" Barty's façade dropped, and all Regulus could do was look down. Barty may have hated his father, but his mum was another story. She had always been kind to Regulus, despite everything he had dragged her son into.

With a wistful, hurt expression, Barty continued, "I still don't get why she did that for me. I was guilty. I was thoroughly guilty. I hadn't driven the Longbottoms insane, but I had helped, and I didn't stop them. For God's sake, Reg, we knew them! Sure, Alice Price was a piece of work, but I spoke to Frank every so often. He was one of the potions tutors, remember?" Regulus remembered. Barty was absolute shite at potions, so bad that Snape was assigned to be his tutor for five consecutive years. Regulus also remembered that both Alice and Frank had been friends with his brother. Seriously, Barty got to the point and asked, "You think there's any chance they—the Order—won't just kill me? I know I can't fix it, Reg, but this isn't enough." As if he thought he said the wrong thing, Barty amended, "Helping you isn't enough. The horcruxes are your redemption, not mine. I can't just sit around, and I can't go back. I can't go back to Azkaban. I'd rather die, you understand me?" Barty looked too scared for Regulus's liking.

"Yeah," Regulus said, a little stunned and surprised to find himself frightened. "No, I—I get it. I'll find something," he promised, the conversation starting to border on the surreal. "Can—can we not talk about this?" Regulus shakily asked, trying to rein in his sudden panic. Oh, God, _this_ couldn't happen in public, and it was not the time. Shit, he wasn't visibly shaking, was he? Christ, why did this have to happen now?

Barty looked worried. All his problems tucked away for now, he asked, "Reg, are you all right?" Regulus nodded, unable to stop thinking about what Bellatrix was capable of and all those different ways he had thought about killing himself. That one nice, spring day, he had idly thought about slitting his wrists with a steak knife while he had been making breakfast. No, he had never tried to go through with it, but he had always had an imagination a bit too overactive for his own good. He could almost even feel it. That led to remembering when Bellatrix had done anything near the same. Oh, God, what Bella did… what Bella…

Barty looked a little frantic but said reassuringly, "Reg, she's not here. She's not here. Bellatrix is off screwing the Dark Lord or whatever she does in her free time. Laughs manically, whatever." Regulus couldn't stop shaking, and Barty was still hesitant to touch him. "Reg, please. You're fine. She's not here; you're safe. She can't get to you," Barty continued gently.

Regulus nodded, vainly attempting to regain calm. It was about a month before the next time he would see Bellatrix. A whole month. He would be safe for another month. Well, for the most part. Maybe. Barty finally put his hand on Regulus's shoulder to offer some comfort, and it was a while longer before Regulus felt he could properly deal with the world again without wanting to run and hide in bed. There were spiders underneath, hence why not underneath a bed. That idea was just mad. "I'm sorry," Regulus apologized distantly. "I shouldn't—I'm sorry. What—what were we talking about? I mean, before…"

"The Order," Barty filled in quickly, probably nervous that Regulus wouldn't react well if he brought up Bellatrix. Why would he? Regulus mentioned Bellatrix all the time. After all, she was a crazy, crazy woman, and everyone knew it (except for the five cousins, oh, they knew the truth, didn't they, that Bella was hardly crazy, no, she was just cold and pragmatic, not crazy, but they let the other people think she was crazy because that was so much more reassuring).

Regulus nodded and said, "Right. Um, I don't—I don't know. Maybe? You'd be better off asking Dorcas. She's better at these things." They had paid for lunch already, hadn't they?

Gently, Barty asked, "Do you want me to take you back to your house? Reg, you look awful." Too many replies raced through Regulus's mind, so he just nodded. Barty smiled and said, "All right. Let's go." He helped Regulus stand, even though Regulus was sure he didn't need the help. He wasn't an invalid. He was just ill, that's all.

"If Diana's not there, would you wait with me?" Regulus asked, cursing himself for sounding desperate. "Please?"

Barty may have forced a smile, but he said, "'Course, Reg. It's the least I could do."

* * *

Diana was not happy with her present situation. Why had her superiors insisted that she cooperate with the Department of Mysteries? Everyone there had something wrong with them. Diana cursed very eloquently and at length about what they were and what they should all do as she continued to make lunch for herself. Of course, she did have to thank the Director for letting her out of work before lunch, even if her lunch was less at a lunchtime than Diana would have preferred. To make it all the better, Terry was missing. What the hell was she supposed to tell Vesta? "Er, sorry, but I lost your husband"? Granted, that made it sound like he was a pet, but sometimes Diana thought that was the proper description.

As she continued to angrily chop fungus for her spaghetti sauce, she heard someone fumbling with keys at the door. "Oh, thank God. The idiot's back," she muttered, before realizing her sister might be the one at the door. Frantically, Diana tried to figure out an explanation as to why the patient was missing and she was alone at the moment.

The door opened, and Diana heard some man say, "Merlin, Vector lives here? I didn't think you could get even a flat a quarter as nice as this on what they pay teachers at Hogwarts."

As Diana tried to remember where a cricket bat was, her brother-in-law replied softly, "It was her parents' house, Barty." With a groan, he complained, "Shit, why in the name of God did I think it was a good idea to go out to lunch?"

"You're a crazy, crazy man?" Terry's friend suggested.

"I resent that," Terry rejoined automatically, triggering some deep, watery coughs.

Diana was so confused. Terry had friends? Terry had friends who knew Artemesia? She put down the knife she was using and walked into the front room. A tall, blond man had Terry's arm over his shoulder to keep Terry from collapsing. And Terry thought he was better. Ha. Even Diana could tell he still looked like shit. "Where the fuck were you?" she asked her brother-in-law bluntly.

The blond looked a little confused, so Terry again coughed and first explained, "My wife's younger sister." The other man nodded knowingly. Aware that he had already annoyed Diana, Terry apologized, "I was just out for lunch. I didn't mean to take so long."

"You collapsed on the Tube," the blond man reminded him.

"I'm fine," Terry insisted, anger seeping into his voice.

Diana silently cursed. He was still bitchy, so he was still sick. Putting on her best fake smile, she turned to the blond man and said, "Well, thanks for dropping Terry off. It's much appreciated."

The blond man didn't seem to react, but then he rolled his eyes and led Terry over to the couch. "She's as good a liar as your cousin," the blond commented, having taken a dislike to Diana. "You know which one I mean. I'll see you later."

Terry winced and nodded. "I'll see you then," he murmured in reply. Diana felt like hitting something. The idiot had gone out knowing he wasn't well, and now she had to deal with the man when he couldn't keep his emotions straight. Bloody wonderful.

The blond man nodded and took Diana's glare as the cue to leave. After she heard the stranger apparate, Diana turned to Terry and demanded, "What the hell were you thinking? And who the fuck was that?" Terry didn't answer, so Diana continued, shouting, "Was that one of your old friends? One of the people you've been ordered _expressly_ not to talk to? What the hell is wrong with you? You said you wouldn't tell anyone! I don't want to have to explain to my sister why her husband's been brought up on charges of high treason, so stop acting like this!"

"I don't belong to the Agency, Diana," Terry replied coolly, staring at the wall next to her. After a moment, he frowned and shot Diana a black look. Steel in his voice, Terry claimed, "They don't own me. I've been following their orders for the past fifteen years. I didn't go to my parents' funerals. I haven't seen one of my cousins at all. That I've spoken to the other two is required by my mission. And my brother? Oh, my brother. I could tell him I was me, and… No, you've nothing to fear from him." He began to laugh bitterly, but he was cut off by a hacking cough. After he regained control, Terry muttered darkly, "It's not like it matters anyway. I'll either die or quit by summer, so your little handlers needn't worry about me."

At that point, Diana realized her brother-in-law had been drinking. Oh, she wanted to kill him right now. "I can't believe you're drunk. What is it, one-thirty? That's just sad," Diana said.

Terry scoffed and shot back, "You think that because I actually decided to just be honest for once that I must be drunk? Ha! You're worse than Sirius, and God knows that's difficult to do. At least he doesn't throw treason at me."

Angry, Diana snapped, "Christ, Terry, shut up. What the hell would Vesta think if she came home now?" Terry barely reacted, so Diana continued, "I know she'd wonder why you were acting like such an asshole. What the hell's wrong with you?"

After a brief laugh, Terry replied sarcastically, "Let's see. Not only were my parents cousins, but Mum was effectively schizophrenic, and Dad was manic-depressive. My brother and I got lucky, but then we both went and got shell-shocked. Granted, his is more Azkaban-induced while our eldest cousin just forced herself on me." At that, he had a half-mad smile on his face.

Diana stared at him in horror. Why the hell would he make shit up like that?

"You don't have access to the file, then?" he asked flippantly, deciding that fiddling with the cuff of his shirt was more important. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Terry, this isn't funny," Diana informed him shakily, starting to feel nervous. What the hell was wrong with him? "Really, stop it," she added for good measure.

"You think I'd lie?" he demanded hoarsely. With another curt laugh, Terry stood and declared, "You really are like my brother," before he walked up the stairs and left her in the living room staring at the staircase in silence broken only by the sound of coughing.

The only thought that could run through Diana's mind was: _Vesta, do you have any idea what kind of man you married?_

* * *

Vesta sighed as she walked into the house. Her day at work had been at best aggravating and at worst infuriating. No, she was not going to think about it. Throwing her coat on the banister, she walked up the stairs. Terry was asleep in bed, just where she left him. Whether or not he had been elsewhere in the interim was less certain.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Vesta pulled her boots off, wondering if she should wake her husband. He looked dead-tired (which meant he had been running around the city), but if he didn't wake now, he would be up for half the night. Grimacing, Vesta put her hand against his forehead. Hell, he was burning up again. With reluctance, she gently shook his shoulder to wake him. "Honey, wake up," she murmured quietly.

"…ten more minutes…"

Vesta smiled lightly at her husband and brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. He pulled the blankets more tightly around him, but he seemed to be waking. Blearily, he opened his eyes and faintly asked, "Vesta? You're back already?" He looked more than a little disoriented.

"It's almost seven," she replied softly. Vesta did not like the look of him at all. Trying not to frown, she gently asked, "Honey, you didn't try to do too much today, did you?"

Terry shut his eyes and seemed to be drifting off to sleep again. A little incoherent, Terry mumbled, "I went to lunch with a friend, but… Collapsed in the Tube, yelled at Diana, fell asleep. Busy day." He curled up with the blankets a little more.

Vesta cupped his face with her hand. Oh, he should not have tried to get out of bed. Whether or not he thought he could have was irrelevant. Even this morning she had been able to tell he was worse than yesterday, and whatever he had done today had exacerbated his illness. "Oh, Terry…" she murmured, continuing to stroke his face. (He had been so beautiful once.)

"'M fine, love," he insisted tiredly. After a minute or so, he looked a bit more awake and revised his earlier statement: "Actually, what I just said may have been a bit premature…" He struggled to get out of bed, and Vesta helped him to the bathroom. She held him between his bouts of nausea and subsequent vomiting. Why was he still so ill? Christ, he was even shaking.

Terry leaned in closer to Vesta, but he said nothing. She asked gently, "Honey, why did you go out? You know you're ill. I know you wish you were better now, but you're still far too weak." He didn't answer, but she didn't mind. She hadn't really expected him to.

They sat on the floor in silence. With effort, Terry finally managed to sit up straight and apologized, "I'm sorry. I…I needed to talk to someone. I couldn't take it anymore, being stuck here all day and night. It's hard, Vesta. I just don't think I can do this anymore."

Vesta frowned and looked down at the floor. She began, "Terry—"

"Please, love, please don't call me that," he begged, his voice raw with emotion.

"Regulus, it's fine," she said reassuringly. "I understand, and I don't mind. I'm just worried about you," Vesta added, making eye contact. She refrained from wincing. He really needed to go back to bed. He looked even more wretched than when she came home. However, Vesta was hesitant about suggesting it. Her husband was not the most amenable man in the world, but he would do what she asked. She just couldn't ask. He needed to go to St. Mungo's. Both of them knew it, but he would not willingly check himself in, even though he had been ill for going on three weeks. Oh, he thought she hadn't noticed the earlier symptoms, but she had. But if he wasn't taking any bloody medication again…

"I'm not forgetting my medicine," Terry reassured her, sounding tired. Vesta felt a little ashamed that she had been so obvious about her doubts. After a moment, Terry looked a little confused and murmured, "I think. Yesterday was Wednesday, right? Yes, it was, because three days ago was Monday. And I'm probably due for some more acetaminophen."

Vesta smiled weakly and, when he made to get up, helped him stand. He was in all likelihood cursing how weak he was, but Vesta was not going to chance him hurting himself. Oh, maybe she should have looked for a different antidote. One of the major side effects was a suppressed immune system. She would rather cope with a potential hemorrhage than risk losing him to disease. "Honey, if you're still ill next week, maybe you should skip a dose," she mentioned as she helped him back into bed. "You're not going anywhere near the Death Eaters while you're like this. They won't miss you, right?"

"Bella might," Terry murmured, shivering as he pulled the blankets around him again. "I'll get better, love, before any of that. The next full meeting is a while off, but if I'm still not well, I can't risk going off the medication. If someone gets sent looking for me, I have to be able to take a beating without worrying if I'll…"

Vesta set her jaw and demanded, "You really think I'd let them anywhere near you?"

"They won't listen. You and Diana are only half-bloods to them, not worth listening to," he murmured, looking away, guilty he had implied what he had. With a small sigh, he mentioned, "Speaking of, I need to apologize to Diana. I lost my temper when I came home."

Vesta let the subject of his heath drop for the moment and asked, "What did she say?" She was well aware that her sister had a penchant for the dramatic, and with Terry as he was, his patience had long been worn thin.

"I don't remember. I think she said something about—No. No, she was rude to my friend and then started railing at me about going out," Terry explained slowly, as he remembered. With a wan smile, he continued ruefully, "I deserved it, though. I said things I really shouldn't have." His expression darkened dramatically, and he nervously admitted, "I told her what Bella did."

Vesta blinked. "You did?" she asked. Vesta was going to have some words with her sister, then. Her husband could chastise himself well enough without her. Still, Diana must have said something amazingly inflammatory to make Terry lose his temper enough to admit that. Vesta sighed and asked, "Would you like me to talk to her instead?"

Terry weakly shook his head and replied, "No, I should—I should apologize. It was my fault. I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have." He looked absolutely miserable as he continued, "I'm pretty sure I can convince her I was exaggerating. She thought I was drunk anyway."

Vesta grimaced. Yes, she had to have a talk with her sister. Diana had been becoming more snappish with everyone recently, and it did not help that she was taking it out on Terry while he had about the same tolerance for brusque behavior. Vesta smiled reassuringly and said, "Well, I'll talk to her anyway. I'll be up with some soup for you soon, all right?"

Terry nodded and seemed to go back to sleep. Concerned, Vesta left the room quietly and went downstairs. She found her sister in the kitchen, angrily reading a trashy romance novel. Vesta sat down next to Diana at the kitchen table and asked, "What's going on? You know Terry hasn't been thinking, speaking, or doing anything properly lately, so what gives?"

Diana glowered and muttered, "It really does figure that you'd take his side."

"I'm not taking his side, Diana," Vesta mentioned patiently. Well, she was, unless Diana gave her good reason not to. Terry had done his best to dissuade Vesta from considering Diana at fault, so the only logical conclusion was that Diana said something that set him off. Diana remained silent, so Vesta continued earnestly, "I just want to know what happened, because Terry's going to drive himself mad with guilt before he works up the energy to apologize."

After a tense moment, Diana asked, "Do you have any idea what he's really like? I mean, _really_?" She had set her paperback novel down on the table and was staring intently at her sister.

"Of course I do. I am married to the man," Vesta reminded her sister. She remembered at that point that Terry had said he had mentioned his worst memory. To make sure her sister understood, Vesta added, "Diana, I met him before he became involved in the war. I know what happened between him and his cousin. Whatever he said—"

"But his family! Do you have any idea?" Diana demanded, completely ignoring Vesta's words. "If that wasn't enough, he as good as implied that he's…" Diana trailed off before asking Vesta, "And what if he is, Vesta? What if he is one of the Blacks? Aunt Hera will—"

Vesta stared at her sister dispassionately. Cutting Diana off, Vesta replied with a touch of anger, "I don't care. If I did care, I wouldn't have married him. I just told you, Diana. I knew him—knew who he was—far before I even entertained the idea of asking him out." After a frustrated sigh, Vesta continued, trying to sound reasonable, "Look, Diana, I won't deny that he…" Collecting herself, Vesta resumed almost pleadingly, "Terry, he—he has faults like any other man, but, Christ, Diana, you know he has a temper."

Vesta bit her lip. She needed Diana to be on her side. She needed it so much right now. Trying to keep calm, Vesta let herself admit, "He's really sick, Diana. I mean…" No, she was not going to break down. When she went back upstairs, he would notice, and he couldn't notice. He had enough to worry about already without worrying about his health. Trying not to cry, Vesta continued, "Oh, God, he's so ill. I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to be a doctor, Diana, but I don't know how to help him."

Diana stared at Vesta, obviously uncertain as to what she should do. Shamefaced, Diana murmured, "Vesta, I didn't mean to—"

"God, Diana, I know," Vesta replied miserably. "I know you didn't mean it."

"Do you want me to Obliviate myself? I'm not supposed to know about Terry," Diana offered. Staring down at the table, she explained guiltily, "It's why I yelled at him. His friend clearly knew who Terry really is, and he was ordered not to tell anyone."

Regaining her cool, Vesta nodded and replied, "I know, but as far as I can tell, he hasn't been. Terry mentioned one old friend who recognized him almost immediately, but said friend is apparently near genius-level even if he has the emotional maturity of a certain Danish prince." She was rewarded with a small smile from her sister, and so Vesta continued, "The others, from what I can tell, have deduced the truth, regardless of whether or not they inform Terry." The prime example of which was Sirius. Vesta didn't know why she had kept silent on the matter, even now. It may not have been her secret, but she hated keeping it from her husband.

"I'll go apologize later, after dinner, or whatever, then," Diana decided, sounding a little guilty. "I kind of said some stuff that wasn't really all that brilliant. Again, though: should I Obliviate myself? I know I'm not anywhere near the need-to-know list."

Vesta shook her head and answered, "No, Diana, just don't tell Aunt Hera. I'd rather do that myself, and we don't want everyone to know Terry's still alive."

Diana paused for a moment. Staring at Vesta with a suspicious look on her face, she guessed, "You and Artemesia have a running bet, don't you?"

"No," Vesta immediately replied. Diana continued to stare in suspicion. "No. We don't." Diana did not cease her staring, so Vesta relented, "She just wants to be present."

Diana nodded and sat in silence. Then, she asked innocently, "Can I come, too?"

Vesta rolled her eyes before swatting her grinning sister on the back of the head. In true form, Diana stuck out her tongue, and Vesta ignored her to find some condensed soup.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Andromeda proves herself to be related to her sisters, and Dorcas makes a decision.  
_


	49. Bring the Boys Back Home

Andromeda Tonks was displeased. Nay, not displeased. Displeased was a word for lesser mortals. Andromeda Tonks was _pissed_. First thing she did after this was hunt down Bellatrix and kill her. Then—_then_—she would deal with the others.

"Andromeda, you are my sister, and I love you, but you are wearing the Bella-expression," Narcissa mentioned warily. Andromeda did not cease in her expression of Bellatrix. No, the expression was imperative for terrifying the unexpecting or unworthy. Like Bellatrix. And Sirius, who needed to write or communicate in any form with Andy more often. And the brat, who she was going to yell at for extended periods of time. _Extended periods of time_.

"They will pay," Andromeda decided. Really, they had made her life hell for how long? If it wasn't bad enough that Bellatrix was up crazy creek without a paddle, Sirius was currently in an ocean of guilt or despair or whatever he fancied himself mired in these days. The brat, of course, just caused problems by existing. Up until recently, he caused problems by not doing so. "Oh, they will pay," Andromeda repeated, narrowing her eyes.

Narcissa looked about as wary as she had been mere seconds ago, but she knew that Andromeda in a fit of anger was about as bad as or worse than Bellatrix in a fit of batshit. Everyone assumed that just because Andromeda was intelligent enough to escape the madhouse she wasn't as crazy as the rest. They would be wrong. Hesitantly, Narcissa suggested, "Well, Andy, you should not be too harsh on the boys—"

Andromeda turned to glare at her sister and demanded, "Why not?" Calming herself somewhat, Andromeda explained, "Cissy, I understand that you're able to take all this in stride, but not everyone can. Christ, you just told me that bloody idiot not only isn't dead but is trying to do what almost killed him in the first place! Next, Sirius, of whom I expected better, is doing jack-shit to stop him. How am I supposed to stay calm?"

After a sigh, Narcissa said, "Regulus only wants to do what he thinks is right, Andy. They both do, but did you honestly think either of them really want to rip open old wounds?" Looking down at the kitchen table, she continued, "They may agree now, but…"

Andromeda let it drop. Her tea was getting cold. For the time being, she would just have to send a proxy to yell at her cousins. A rather important thought flitted through her mind. "Narcissa? Why the hell did you call on me? Why didn't you send an owl, like you normally do?" she asked, suspicious. This break in habit did not bode well.

"I am frustrated, and Lucius is under the impression that I am here to try to convert you again," Narcissa replied simply, taking a sip of her tea.

Andromeda arched an eyebrow and corrected, "You mean Lucius will tell anyone that's what you're doing." She shook her head and mentioned, "Bella will see right through that."

Narcissa's grip on her teacup became far tenser. With a deep breath, she admitted, "Andy, you are the only one I trust to talk to about this. You need to warn Sirius. Bellatrix knows I want to speak with him, so I could not owl him. Mail can be intercepted. People can be overheard, but I know she will not breach your wards. That is why I apparated directly here, into your kitchen. I do apologize for being rude, but there wasn't any other way."

Andromeda was curious. Yes, she had been mildly annoyed when her little sister had apparated right next to her while she had been washing the dishes. Yes, she had wondered why Narcissa had deigned to inform her about Sirius and the brat's melodrama. Now, she wondered if she really wanted to know. "What doesn't Bellatrix want you warning him about?" she asked.

"She knows the truth," Narcissa said. "And there's a rumor that Rudolphus and others are planning on…" She broke off. Andromeda knew her little sister was scared. Alive or dead, the boys had always been near the heart of every disagreement in the family. Andromeda would have been spoken to after a decade or so if she hadn't dragged Sirius down with her in the eyes of the family. The split between Bellatrix and Narcissa had been because of the brat. Narcissa had always been close to the brat, Merlin knew why, and he looked up to her for some bizarre reason. In the end, Andromeda blamed her aunt and uncle. They hadn't paid attention, so Sirius ran, and Regulus had stayed on the beaten path for fear of disappointing everyone.

"Is Bellatrix of like mind? Or is Rudolphus alone in his crusade?" Andromeda asked.

Narcissa shook her head, looking far more upset than Andromeda expected. "Andromeda, Rudolphus and the others are concerned with preventing the Dark Lord from taking out his displeasure on them for failing to recognize a manifold traitor," she explained. After a moment, she continued, "Bellatrix—she wants to kill him, too, but only after Merlin knows what. She confronted me about him, to make sure." A little hysterically, Narcissa mentioned, "You know, she copied Sirius. When he decided he was right, he asked me, but Reggie can't go to the next meeting, not with half the Death Eaters after his blood. He would be lucky if he were only missing for a week this time. I don't know what he's trying to do, and I don't care, but I have no hope that he would walk out of there alive."

Andromeda was honestly struck by how worried Narcissa seemed. "Cissy, are you sure? From what little I could gather back in the day, Regulus routinely buggered up everything. If he's acting anywhere near subtle, wouldn't he be less suspect? Less likely to be thought of as a traitor? Or, wouldn't they try to use him as a spy?" Andromeda asked, trying to think of a way to calm her sister. Narcissa in a funk was not something one liked to bear witness to. Andromeda further asked, "Wouldn't they try to blackmail him first? Use someone he—does he have a family?" She couldn't quite believe she hadn't even thought to ask the last until now, but that was mostly because she had issues imagining her cousin in his mid-thirties, let alone married.

Tentatively, Narcissa murmured, "He married a half-blood. They have a son and a daughter." Halfway between angry and worried, Narcissa continued, "Bellatrix knows. She's already tried to kill his wife. He reacted as well as you might imagine."

Andromeda could only stare at Narcissa. Regulus married a… Managing to shake herself out of her shock, Andromeda asked, "What degree of half-blood? But, really? How—I thought—Cissy, he was about as conservative as you are. Accept non-purebloods, yes, but… Marry?"

To the first question, Narcissa replied, "As far as I know, the second strictest sense. The tale is even more fantastic. You may remember that apprentice medwitch, that American—"

"You mean Anderson? Or Davies? There were a number on loan at the time. I assume you're talking about when Regulus was—" Andromeda broke off. "Oh, my God. You mean White," Andromeda realized. Temporarily dumbstruck, Andromeda tried to process what Narcissa just implied. "She's back at St. Mungo's, but I assumed—her husband? Merlin, her husband! How could I have not noticed? Yates still tells that bloody story about White valiantly rushing to the aid of the idiot first-year who fell down the staircase."

Staring at Andromeda blankly but unwilling to admit her confusion, Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "The time Reg failed to notice a flight of stairs," Andromeda supplied before Narcissa hurt herself trying not to look interested. Narcissa nodded knowingly then winced. She clearly remembered that story just as well as Andromeda did.

Annoyed, Andromeda resumed her stream of consciousness and continued, "I don't really work in the same division as White, but I've seen her around. I wouldn't really have noticed her if Yates wasn't such a royal pain in the arse. Dammit, I was even called in to figure out what the hell was wrong with him yesterday! I thought he looked familiar, but I didn't think that he—Narcissa, how the bloody hell can he think he's capable of fighting? Right now, he's even taking an immunosuppressant! How long do you think he can put off meeting with Lucius and the rest? Right now, Regulus is barely able to remain conscious, let alone defend himself."

Narcissa's face had turned white as a sheet. "What's wrong with him?" she asked weakly.

"The usual. Bellatrix. Random viral infection—the flu, this time—that should have gone away by now but was complicated by pneumonia. And then the immunosuppressant is an antidote for a severe case of poisoning," Andromeda replied, trying not to think about it. Oh, Merlin, what she'd thought earlier… How could she have been so cold? The prognosis wasn't good, and he could not be taken off the antidote potion. He wasn't _exceedingly_ ill, and Andromeda had suggested a combination of various potions and Muggle remedies (antibiotics, as most people liked to call them). Andromeda suddenly felt a wave of pity for her cousin's wife and commented, "Narcissa, White's an absolute saint. Not only has she managed to convince him to go to St. Mungo's, but she managed to keep him under house arrest for three weeks."

"Three weeks? She has gone up in my estimations," Narcissa decided. She looked a little less upset now. Andromeda wondered how much of that was because she had conveniently not seemed too upset about the new information. "What did Bellatrix do? I did not think she had been in an altercation with him since late January."

Andromeda had acquired a murderous look on her face. "Since?" she asked. Not giving Narcissa time to reply just yet, Andromeda answered her question, "Our dearest elder sister is the reason Regulus is undergoing treatment for poisoning right now. She dosed him with a hemorrhagic poison with a long half-life. I suppose it's also her fault that he's almost scarred beyond recognition?"

"Andy, he has been speaking out frequently. He suffers more punishment for lesser crimes because he is under the guise of a half-blood. Bellatrix almost killed his wife to keep him in line. He has been suspected since the fall, and his real identity will in all likelihood be the final straw," Narcissa tried to explain. "Regulus had to have been spared for a reason, so that he isn't dead means that in the first war he did far more than spy."

Andromeda shook her head. "He was always far too bloody scared to commit to what he knew was right, but when confronted with what was wrong, he reacted how he should have in the first place," she said bitterly. It may have been a bit harsh toward her cousin, but she had rarely known him to stand up for himself.

Andromeda decided to pursue a safer topic and resumed the previous thread of the conversation. She said, "In any case, Regulus is still weak from what Bellatrix has done to him in the recent past, so he was at a higher risk to contract pneumonia. That the Elixir suppresses the immune system during treatment has compounded the problem. In any case, his prognosis is pretty bad. He had been taking cough-suppressants, so it hadn't been as readily clear how bad the lung infection is." Taking in Narcissa's worried expression, Andromeda reassured her, "Don't worry. He'll be right as rain in no time." Andromeda figured it was better to tell her a white lie than the truth. It was highly unlikely that their cousin would recover quickly. Barring any more complications, he would likely recover, but he would be more or less grievously ill for at least one more week but likely a fortnight.

Narcissa folded her hands in her lap and asked, "How long can I legitimately tell Lucius that Regulus is grievously ill? Andy, if there's a meeting—"

"A month," Andromeda cut in. "Even if he is fine before then, he will still be at risk for a relapse during that time. Besides, I'm sure Sirius would be able to talk some sense into him."

"Regulus may listen to Sirius, but he doesn't follow orders when they're contrary to his interest," Narcissa mentioned. Andromeda wondered how well they could really psychoanalyze their cousins now. Regulus could be completely different, and Andromeda had no doubt that Sirius had changed. From what Nymphadora had said, Andromeda couldn't tell if it was for the better or worse.

"That's all well and good, but—" Andromeda began.

There was a door opening. Then a crash. Then: "Mum, I broke that ugly vase again!"

Narcissa had enough tact just to raise one eyebrow and inquire, "The one Aunt Walburga sent you as a wedding present? With the horrid floral design?" She paused for a moment then added, "Please say you did toss that. I might lose all faith in humanity if you didn't."

Andromeda sighed. Why her? Why? "Nymphadora, please be a bit more careful next time," she called to her daughter, who was in all likelihood struggling to take her boots off. Andromeda added, "And watch the table to your right!"

Narcissa winced as there was another crash and a great deal of swearing. "Is my niece still fashion-deprived?" she inquired, continuing to ignore the ever-worsening stream of profanity. There were a couple of charms to fix whatever was broken thrown in, but most of it was swearing, all the way from four-letter words to phrases the sisters had only heard their mostly disreputable cousin say. "I told you no good would come of letting Sirius baby-sit her."

"Would you have?" Andromeda inquired pointedly.

"No, but Regulus could have pretended to be a perfectly decent role-model."

"He was a self-destructive teenage Death Eater who was in a punk rock band so he didn't go completely off the rails. That's exactly who I wanted Nymphadora to emulate," Andromeda reminded her sister. That said, she had taken him up on his offer to look after Nymphadora a couple times. He had appeared to be the responsible apprentice medwizard when he had wanted, even if he had dyed his hair blue once. "Of course, the manic-depressive Auror with a motorcycle wasn't much better, but at least Potter and Lupin had their heads on straight."

"Did someone mention Remus?" Nymphadora cut in as she popped into the kitchen and sat down between her mother and aunt. She looked between the two other women before she did a double-take. As polite as ever, Nymphadora demanded, "Why are you here?"

Narcissa stared at her niece placidly before she asked Andromeda, "Did you mean to raise her to be uncouth or is this another unfortunate side-effect of exposure to our cousin?"

Andromeda did not deign to answer. To her daughter, she said, "Nymphadora, you are twenty-two years old and should know better than to say such things to a guest. Unless said guest is your cousin. That's acceptable."

"She doesn't mean Draco," Narcissa added for clarification, calmly sipping her tea.

After a moment of looking back and forth between Andromeda and Narcissa, Nymphadora asked suspiciously, "Did Sirius do something again? I mean, the last time you had any sort of tea or lunch-like activity with _her_—" Nymphadora gestured at her aunt. "—Sirius went and got himself thrown in prison."

Narcissa looked offended and gently corrected, "No, I was acquiring an alibi." Nymphadora could only stare at her aunt in great confusion. Andromeda wished that it was Ted's side of the family that had the unable-to-process-information gene, but she—alas—knew it was hers. Her family was the one that produced Sirius and Regulus, even if it had produced Andromeda and Machiavelli reincarnate in Narcissa. Said rival to Italian statesmen then continued, "But, yes, Sirius is an idiot, and there has been a catastrophe of sorts."

"Really?" Nymphadora asked, looking a little puzzled. "All I've heard from Sirius is that he's really pissed off at this one guy in the Order, 'cause he's _way_ too dedicated. Most everyone thinks the guy's batty, though, but Sirius deals with him for some reason."

Narcissa could only stare at her niece, and Andromeda wished she didn't have an idea of what her sister would say next. "I think we need to interbreed with the Muggle-borns more often," Narcissa decided. "This is getting ridiculous. I am apparently the only sane one in this family aside from your daughter. Draco doesn't count. He's a dear, but, well, Lucius."

Before Nymphadora had started to think too hard about what Narcissa said, Andromeda broke in, "Well, that's all well and good, but we were discussing certain topics that are not appropriate for certain people with pink hair for various reasons."

Pensive, Narcissa cocked her head to the side and mentioned, "No, Andromeda, I do believe that this may be quite fortuitous. Unless, of course, you would rather pass on the message yourself. I understand that completely, as I would prefer to do so as well."

Andromeda was initially unsure but decided firmly, "No. I don't want more people than necessary mixed up in this business. I'll tell Sirius."

Narcissa nodded, understanding. The last thing Andromeda wanted to do was put Nymphadora in more danger than she already was. Nymphadora, on the other hand, was far less understanding and demanded, "What's going on? What'd I miss? What's with the secrecy? Why am I always left out of the loop?"

"Because you are young and not to be involved in matters of great import," Narcissa replied smoothly. Andromeda had the feeling that her daughter was not going to take that quietly but could not bring herself to be angry with her sister. After all, she did not want Nymphadora involved in this mess. "It is far better not to think on what we must do. Unfortunately, your mother and I are already invested in the situation. You need not be."

Nymphadora stared at her aunt before switching her attention to her mother. "Mum, what in the world is she talking about? And what does this have to do with Sirius?" she demanded.

Andromeda quickly planned a course of action. Hesitantly, she admitted, "I need to talk to him about inheritance issues. Narcissa was kind enough to mention that Sirius probably hasn't reinstated me in the family because he forgot, so gently reminding him might be a wise idea."

"He cannot keep track of what he is doing for more than ten minutes," Narcissa agreed.

Andromeda refrained from wincing and continued, "Really, Nymphadora, you don't need to worry. All this is just silly things. Nothing to get too worked up about." Realizing Narcissa had said the opposite just moments ago, Andromeda revised, "Well, nothing you need to worry about. These particular family affairs aren't anything that would directly affect you."

Nymphadora stared at her mother and aunt. Slowly, she said, "I'm sorry. I must have fallen through a rift in the time-space continuum. What?" Neither sister said a thing. That Andromeda and Narcissa were colluding was clearly disturbing Nymphadora far more than she was comfortable with. Hence, Nymphadora declared, "Fine. That's it. I'm going to go back to work or find Do—er, a friend and eat lunch with her. Yes, that's it. That's what I'm going to do."

"Say hello to Ms. Meadowes for me," Narcissa mentioned lightly, taking another sip of her tea. Andromeda wondered how her sister managed to pull off nonchalant so well. Bellatrix wouldn't know nonchalant if it was labeled and repeatedly hitting her in the face, and Andromeda had as much of a grip on her emotions as Sirius, which was to say not at all.

Fairly certain that Meadowes was one of Sirius's undeceased friends (the name sounded relatively familiar), Andromeda mentioned, "Oh, and could you get a message to Sirius that I would like to have lunch with him sometime this week? Thank you, dear."

Nymphadora stared at her mother and aunt once more in shock before disapparating on the spot. Narcissa smiled and commented, "I had forgotten how much I did enjoy family reunions. They are so amusing." She then resumed sipping her tea.

* * *

"Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to let you around Crouch at all?" Sirius asked Dorcas as he started to feel a headache coming on. They were having a couple drinks after dinner.

"Because the two of us have mad-crazy ideas of doom? Also, I keep him from doing bad things, like opening watches and blowing things up. Oh, and there was that one time with the sentient pepper pots and the—"

"Dorcas, I know you really want to believe that the random duplicate Tonks ran into must have been your hero's former mentor, but I'm fairly certain we would have noticed by now if Crouch were in two places at once, much less an alien."

Dorcas stared at Sirius and explained reasonably, "He's a 900-year-old Anglophile from outer space. I would assume he could blend in if he wanted."

"There is literally no point to trying to talk to you rationally about this, is there?" Sirius inquired as Dorcas began to channel-surf.

Dorcas shrugged in reply. The two of them were silent for a while as the television kept flipping channels before Dorcas finally demanded, "What are you trying to find a way to tell me? This isn't a repeat of the Event We Shall Not Speak Of, is it?"

Sirius cringed at the memory and said, "No. Nothing related to that. Nothing at all. Don't worry." He shuddered for emphasis.

"Hmm," Dorcas said, idly resuming her channel surfing. "I guess that means you're trying to figure out a way to tell me you know about Terry, then?"

Sirius choked on his drink. Dorcas let him flail before hitting him once or twice on the back for good measure. "What?" Sirius demanded, hoping he sounded surprised, confused, or a fusion of the two. After all, Dorcas could be talking about practically anything, right?

"Don't play dumb with me, Black," Dorcas ordered him. "I see through your pathetic attempts to hide the truth from me. Well, yours and those of your idiot brother, because he seriously can't hide anything for shit, you know that?" She gestured with her beer bottle before switching channels again. Apparently, she wasn't taking the conversation very seriously.

"Reg is a crap actor? I had no idea," Sirius snarked back. For some reason, he felt more relieved than angry that Dorcas was so nonchalant. Of course, that may also have been because he didn't have to make a long, drawn-out explanation of the situation.

Dorcas sighed and turned off the television. Turning to Sirius, she said seriously, "I'm just glad you've left the Land of Denial. When are you going to tell him, by the way? He probably really needs to know he can drop the act. Have you visited him recently? Barty said Reg was on the brink of death or something similarly melodramatic."

"Vesta mentioned he was ill," Sirius said.

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. Apparently deciding to change subjects, she suggested, "So… Firewhiskey and a mindless action movie? I rented some Harrison Ford flicks that look particularly interesting. One of them even has Sean Connery!"

"Really," Sirius commented, wondering if Dorcas was going to drop the subject completely and blather on about popular culture or if she was trying to throw him off balance.

"Yes. And we shall partake of the firewhiskey after you explain to me why you haven't told Reggie about the whole 'Oh, by the way, little brother, I am aware you are in fact my younger sibling, so you can stop acting like a spaz' thing. I would very much appreciate it if you follow everyone's advice for once and just tell him, 'kay?" Dorcas said, picking the stack of videotapes up off the floor and spreading them out on the coffee table. "I say we watch the one with Tommy Lee Jones first. What do you think?" she asked, clearly trying to derail the conversation and thus completely confusing Sirius. Did she want him to answer the damn question or was she trying some bizarre new technique to try and make Sirius tell the truth?

"Er, yes and yes?" Sirius guessed.

"Is that a 'I'll tell him tomorrow but I mean in a year' or a 'I'll go there tomorrow, because you're going to drag me there kicking and screaming'?" Dorcas inquired innocently. She _was_ using her reverse-psychology voodoo on him.

"You'll have to drag me kicking and screaming," Sirius replied, deciding to beat Dorcas at her own game. She would more than likely realize what he was doing, but momentary confusion on her part was better than having to seriously talk about things.

"Lovely. We can go now, then?" Dorcas responded cheerily. Well, that clearly backfired.

Sirius stared at her in shock. She wasn't supposed to say yes! "Please tell me you don't really intend for us to go now?" he started.

Dorcas laughed maniacally, took a swig from her beer, and then said seriously, "No, I wasn't. However, we are going tomorrow. I talked to Vesta the other day, because she's epic, and we both decided that you two brothers have serious issues. I mean, we could write a TV show based on how dysfunctional you two are. We could call it something catchy, and you could travel around doing epic stuff, like protecting people from the things that go bump in the night."

"I'm sure someone's already written that," Sirius commented, fairly certain Dorcas was trying to convince him to do her bidding by confusing him. She had a habit of doing so back when they were in school and Sirius was purposefully acting obtuse.

"Irrelevant. They could base it on you," Dorcas insisted. "Besides, she's already told Idiot #2 that you're visiting. Can't very well let him down now, can you?" Sirius made a face. This fake-out of hers was seriously unfair. "Oh, quit whining in your damned internal monologue."

"I do not have an internal monologue!" Sirius protested.

"As you say, oh, He-Who-Soliloquizes," Dorcas replied nonchalantly. She decided on the film with Tommy Lee Jones and put it in the VCR. As she was trying to get the contraption to stop blinking 12:00 and instead play the tape, Dorcas sighed and explained, "Look, Sirius, I know you don't want to say anything, and I'm sure both of you have got this idea into your heads that you'd be hurting each other if either of you dropped the act. However, putting this off is as stupid as that idea you had in sixth year to put off apologizing to Remus for half a bloody year."

Finally conquering the VCR, Dorcas sat back down next to Sirius on the couch and admitted, "Barty thinks it's a better idea to keep things as is, but I've recently come around to the opinion that you and Reggie need to sort things out. I mean, it's also probably better to break the news when he's a captive audience and already a bit emotionally distraught, so at least later you two can blame the circumstances on any awkwardness. Worked the last time, didn't it?"

Sirius grimaced but asked, "Which last time?"

After taking a swig of her beer, Dorcas reminded him, "The time James and I covered your ass for not arresting him after the Battle of Renton Way."

Sirius frowned as another preview played, but once the next began, he conceded, "Dorcas, I'm not saying you're right, but you might have a good idea. I just—I don't know. Reg isn't going to react well if that happens, and I really don't want to piss off his wife. She probably has a gun and a shovel and would have no reservations in committing premeditated murder."

Dorcas laughed and had thankfully not been drinking her beer. Sirius had no interest in cleaning up Dorcas's beery snot. "Tell me another one!" she exclaimed. "Seriously, Sirius! Have you talked to the poor woman lately? She's been wigging out because she's kept the secret that—okay, you know what, I'm not going to describe this nonsense suffice to say that you're a loon, your brother's a loon, and you both need to act like some other sort of animal, because while being loons suit you, it's bloody obnoxious for everyone else involved."

"Already descended to the animal-themed insults, Dorcas?" Sirius inquired, wondering why he was egging her on. He really should have diffused the situation and not added fuel to the fire. He was dealing with Dorcas, after all.

Dorcas set her beer down on the table and glared at Sirius. "Look, here, Black. We're friends. That is currently the only reason why I haven't beaten the shit out of you for how you're treating your brother. I've stood silent the past couple months simply because I was under the delusion that you might have been right about keeping this secret, but honest to God, you've finally gone too far. I know you've been aware of what's going on since at least January, and keeping this secret may be one of the shittiest things you've ever done," Dorcas explained as calmly as she could, clearly dropping her feel-good act.

"Thanks for finally cutting the crap, Dorcas," Sirius replied stonily. "Look, if you knew, then why the fuck didn't you say anything earlier, huh? I know you love being off in your delusions with your imaginary friends, but we are fighting a war here."

"Maybe I like putting on a mask because it's easier to deal with fucking idiots like you!" Dorcas shouted, standing.

"I thought it was because you killed Jamie and can't deal with the fact you barely batted an eyelash!"

"Oh, you're playing the friendly-fire card? That's real mature, Black. At least I didn't remind you that _everyone_ didn't put it past you to murder thirteen people in cold blood," Dorcas shot back acidly. After making a disgusted snort, Dorcas continued cuttingly, "Or, for that matter, murder your brother."

Sirius stared at the carpet in front of him. He had no idea why he had started this, but he knew he had to calm down. If he kept sniping at Dorcas, he would only receive the same treatment in return. Sirius murmured, "They expected no better of me. Of you, everyone did."

Dorcas's anger subsided after that comment. With an exasperated sigh, she sat back down on the couch and declared, "Well, don't throw yourself a pity party. I'm still pissed off about all this, but I guess you have your reasons for being a bloody idiot."

Sirius knew that was as close as he would get to an apology. "I deserve that," he admitted. His reply was met with silence, so he chanced continuing, "I really don't know what to do, Dorcas. I know I put Vesta in a really awkward position, and I hate myself for doing that. The thing is that I really don't know if Reg could handle this right now."

Dorcas shrugged and said, "Fine, then, but I'm holding you to your word. You have to be a decent human being and tell your brother the truth. Tomorrow. I am going to drag you kicking and screaming if you don't go willingly."

"All right. We'll go tomorrow," Sirius relented, wanting at least temporary peace.

Dorcas seemed to take that as acceptance and said, "Good." After a moment, she grinned and declared, "Now that that's sorted, let's watch Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones." She reached behind the couch and came back with two bottles and a huge bag of crisps. "Beer?"

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Remus and Auriga lament the state of inebriation, and Hermione reminds Harry why they can't have nice things.  
_


	50. Monday, Monday

Regulus was taking a catnap when he was rudely awakened by the statement, "Reg, you look like shit."

Opening his eyes, he glared at his brother. Clearly, this was some sort of demented nightmare, because Sirius was just sitting there on the other couch in the room, idly flipping through channels on the television. The current station was the one about Nazis.

As this was clearly only a dream, Regulus flipped him off and tried to go back to sleep. Of course, another option was that he was hallucinating from painkillers, but it made no difference in the long run.

"That wasn't very nice," dream-Sirius mentioned. He had stopped changing channels on the television. Regulus really wasn't in the mood to think about what all these details meant in terms of psychoanalysis. It sounded like dream-Sirius walked over to the couch Regulus was currently trying to sleep on and sat down on the other end. "Do you know why there's a television channel solely devoted to the Second World War?" he asked, apparently genuine.

"I don't know. Leave me alone. I'm trying to sleep," Regulus replied, again trying to ignore the obnoxious hallucination.

"I take it we're not going to talk about all this, then?" Sirius inquired. Regulus wasn't in the mood to interpret what his brother was talking about, so he didn't reply. "You're just going to accept it?"

"If you'd go away, I'd be eternally grateful," Regulus muttered in return, wishing the bloody television would turn off. It was his dream, after all. Reality or what passed for it should bend to his will or something of that nature.

"Not going to happen, little bro."

Regulus sacrificed a pillow in the name of chucking something at his older brother.

"Somebody's tetchy today," Sirius commented, depositing the pillow back on Regulus's side of the couch. "Did you forget to take your pills?"

"I took my bloody pills, now go away," Regulus snapped, finally giving up trying to sleep in the bizzaro-dream world. Merlin, he felt like he had been run over by a steam-roller, even in his mind. "And would you turn the damn television off?"

Sirius laughed and said, "Damn, I honest to God didn't think you'd take it this well."

"Whatever," Regulus said. Maybe it was a better idea to try to go to sleep, even if he was stuck in a dream. It might work like a television and switch the metaphorical station. Oh, that was deep. Yes, it had to work.

"You're ignoring me, aren't you?" Sirius suggested jokingly. Yes, there was no other explanation. Regulus was in one of those nonsensical dreams where fish swam through the sky, which was usually either green or yellow. He had been having a lot of those lately, but then painkillers had that lovely effect on him.

"No. I'm trying to switch the channel with my mind," Regulus replied.

"If you don't like the Hitler channel, you should have said," Sirius commented, reaching for the remote. He started to fiddle with it, but Regulus grabbed it and promptly dropped it off the opposite side of the couch. "Okay, I guess you do want to watch Nazis…"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sirius. You're not making sense," Regulus muttered. How would changing the dream-television channel help with this nightmare dilemma? Dream-Sirius honestly needed to have his head examined. For that matter, Sirius needed to have his head examined. Regulus decided to mention that to Sirius the next time he saw him.

"Uh-huh," Sirius said, clearly not believing him. "All right, then, Reggie. Whatever you say." He sighed, and then Regulus realized he really was having a nightmare. Sirius began sincerely, "Look, Reg, I'm sorry I haven't said anything about all this sooner. I should have talked to you about this earlier. I know you've been tearing yourself apart about keeping this secret, Reg, and I haven't blamed you."

"What," Regulus said, now wishing he hadn't removed the remote from both their reaches. If this was his dream, he could watch whatever he damn well pleased, so assuming he could change the channel, there might even be some new Doctor Who on. That would be nice. The series was cancelled six or seven years prior, and there was little to no chance of a revival.

Sirius was staring at Regulus like the younger brother was the crazy one. Why did Sirius have to always be so critical? This was an extended hallucination, dammit! Regulus thought his brain would have at least had the decency to be a bit nicer to him. "Er, I've know you're you since Christmas? And you're acting like a lunatic because you're shite at keeping secrets?" Dream-Sirius attempted to explain. (This was a conformation that Regulus was indeed having a fever-dream. After all, why the hell would _Sirius_ be this straightforward when talking him?)

"Tha's nice," Regulus slurred in reply, his attention drifting to the television. At least this programme wasn't about the Nuremberg Trials or anything else like that. Well, apparently his brain was giving him some sort of reprieve from irony.

Sirius seemed a bit hesitant before he suggested, "Why don't you get some more sleep, and we'll talk later, huh? You don't seem all that lucid."

Regulus made a half-assed attempt to glare at his brother before he sighed. "Whatever. You're not real anyway. 'M hallucinating again or asleep already. Go 'n find James 'n Lily 'n them. I think the Gryffindor common room's past the swimming pool in the middle of the kitchen," Regulus replied, gesturing towards what would normally be the entrance hall but was more frequently the kitchen in these situations.

"…Right," Sirius said, clearly confused. He stood to leave and shuffled nervously for a moment. Awkwardly, he said, "Well, feel better, okay?" Regulus made some sort of acknowledgment that he heard what Sirius had said, so Sirius retrieved the remote and turned off the television. He placed the remote on the table next to Regulus and promised, "I'll come back later, okay, Reg? Don't do anything too stressful, all right?"

Again trying to go to sleep, Regulus made a noncommittal reply. He fell asleep before he heard the front door shut.

* * *

Remus was skeptical about the reason Sirius had given for suggesting they go out for drinks. Why they were at a Muggle pub was understandable, yes, but finding Sirius halfway to sloshed needed explaining. On the bright side, that Sirius phoned Remus of his own free will was a sign his depression was lessening, even if he was attempting to drink himself under the table. Dorcas was nowhere to be seen, though.

"Get in an argument with Dorcas, then?" Remus inquired as he sat down across from Sirius. "Haven't seen you without at least one of the entourage since January."

"He thought I—" Sirius began before breaking off. With a sigh, he restarted, "Yeah, Dorcas and I argued, but I just wanted to talk to you alone for once. I feel like I've been a shitty friend to you recently, and if you don't mind, I would like to ask your advice on something."

"That was amazingly eloquent for a man on his… third beer," Remus guess-timated. "And it's fine, Sirius. I've been off on some business for the Order in between catching up with you and Dorcas, and before you ask, yes, I mean I've been working for the Order and going out to dinner with Nymphadora. You are not allowed to tell Dorcas that I admitted it, Sirius. Or Andromeda. She can be bloody terrifying when she wants to be."

Sirius smiled and said, "I'm happy for you, Remus. Really, I am. I'll not say anything to Andy next time I see her." Remus was correct, then. Sirius was on his third drink if he didn't even comment on the accuracy of Remus's estimation. Or, what Sirius had avoided saying what was troubling him. "You been well otherwise?" Sirius asked, fiddling around with one of the coasters on the table. "Family well and all that?"

Remus hesitated. If Sirius was upset, then he didn't really need to hear about Remus's issues. Then again, maybe Sirius honestly just wanted to talk. "Er, I've been fine, yeah. You know about the continuing trials and tribulations with Rom, and Mère and Da are well," he said nonchalantly. Sirius was going to have to direct the course of the conversation after that. Remus could then figure out what was going on and adjust the conversation accordingly.

"What did your arse of a brother do this time?" Sirius inquired, completely unsurprised. There was no real reason to be surprised. After all, Romulus was a royal pain in the ass, and Sirius thought as highly of Remus's brother as Romulus did of him.

"Same old arguments. We're mostly civil now, but he just makes it so hard to explain to my nephews why we don't get along. Luckily, Thérèse is far more open than Rom," Remus began. They paused the conversation to allow Remus to order food. "Anyway, Rom surpassed his previous levels of assholishness by bringing his friend Henri over for Christmas."

"Henri as in Mr. High and Mighty King of All Arsehattery? With whom we had that awkward day out together in the summer of fourth year? God, he was such a prick to Peter," Sirius reminisced. Remus was actually surprised that Sirius was able to mention Peter without wanting to kill him. If Remus didn't know better, he would have said that Sirius was still bitter about what Henri said to Peter.

"Yeah, that Henri. He was in top form, by the way," Remus continued. "Mère wasn't about to take a side, but even she was annoyed that Henri more or less considers me a second-class citizen." He shrugged and admitted, "As long as he and Rom have their hatefest away from the next generation, I'm fine with it. That said, when we visited Grandma and Granda's, I managed to get Mère to insist that Henri fichez le camp, or as you would have said, go fuck himself six ways from Sunday and jump off a cliff to boot."

"So your mum still follows the sage advice of Theodore Roosevelt?" Sirius quipped.

"To the tee. She's finally actually acquired an actual stick to hit people with, mainly Rom," Remus reported impartially. "Granda's getting pretty old, but Grandma's still as intimidating as when I was five. I actually managed to have a conversation with her this time."

Sirius clearly read between the lines and asked, "_Is_ everything all right with your grandfather? Usually you tell me of the great and excellent things he says about your brother, even if said arse is in the room."

Remus didn't particularly want to air his dirty laundry, but this was Sirius. They were still best friends, right? Sure, he'd been more or less sheltering the loon the entire time he was on the run (after he learned of said idiot's innocence, of course), but they were vastly different now. Did Remus really feel comfortable talking about his problems with Sirius?

"That bad, huh?" Sirius commented, staring seriously at Remus. He grimaced and said, "I only wish one of us was at least approaching happy. Things going well with Tonks, at least?"

"Lies and slander, Sirius. I am not dating your niece," Remus replied automatically. Sirius raised an eyebrow in response, which induced Remus to realize what he said and corrected, "Things are fine. She's very…"

"If you say bendy, I'm going to excuse myself to regurgitate my lunch," Sirius declared.

Remus shot an unamused look at Sirius and said, "I was not going to say bendy. I was going to say that she's far too full of life to be stuck with me." It was the truth, after all. Remus was too old and too poor for a girl like Nymphadora. She had her whole life ahead of her, and she didn't need to waste it on a poor, fucked-up man old enough to be her father.

"Remus, she's free to make her own decisions, and if I were so inclined and not an ex-convict, I would totally want to marry you, but as I'm not, I'll settle for an epic bromance," Sirius told him with a straight face and sounding completely matter-of-fact. He even was resorting to a meaningful stare, which was semi-disconcerting as Sirius tended to mix those up with the puppy-dog eyes. Remus realized the Order was incredibly lucky to have Sirius on their side. Who knew what kind of power the Death Eaters could have possessed with Sirius's puppy-dog look. Remus shuddered to think about it.

"I'll assume that's a complement," Remus decided.

"Damn straight it is. You'd be lucky to have me," Sirius retorted with a self-satisfied smirk. Remus had the urge to throw a pastry at him but restrained himself.

The train of thought that resulted from the food-fight fantasy concluded with the realization that Sirius had successfully derailed Remus from asking why he was drunk. This error needed to be rectified, stat. "What about you, Sirius? Since we're talking about why I'm less than overjoyed with life, the universe, and everything, why don't we talk about your problems?" Remus suggested, taking Sirius off-guard.

"My brother's an idiot," Sirius began. Remus waited for a continuance of the rant that had begun. He must have heard this one at least seventeen times since Regulus died. At least Sirius was back to near accepting that said family member was dead. "He's a complete and total idiot. Have I mentioned that?"

"Repeatedly," Remus answered. Once upon a time, he had memorized the responses he had needed to say in order to prevent Sirius from attempting to go drink a liquor store dry. Of course, at that point in time, Remus registered the tense Sirius was using. Present. Not past or pluperfect. Present. Oh, no, he wasn't back to one of the previous stages of grief again, was he?

"No, Remus, he's gone and outdone himself," Sirius contradicted, draining the rest of his most recent drink. He was going to order another, but Remus managed to catch the eye of the bartender so as Sirius would be cut off from the booze.

Remus knew there was no pleasant way to say what he needed to, so he reminded Sirius as gently as possible, "Sirius, Regulus is dead."

"Isn't. You were right," Sirius corrected. He didn't even seem angry that Remus had brought up his brother, and he glanced around in a paranoid way to make sure no one was listening. Remus thought this was unnecessary, as his best friend had finally gone off the deep end. In a manner Sirius considered subtle, he explained, "White is Black."

Remus cringed on the inside and thought, Let the shitstorm commence. "Ah. That," he said noncommittally. "Are you sure?" Remus inquired, hoping Sirius had come to the conclusion based on conjecture and a severe lack of solid evidence.

"Yep. Narcissa is all-knowing, and Vesta explained it all, more or less," Sirius replied concisely. "I'm not really all that angry about that, though. It's more that he's still a bloody idiot and works himself to death. Also that he thought he was hallucinating when I confronted him about it this morning."

"Hence the drinking," Remus finished, piecing the rest of the series of events together. "Well, aside from that, you've good news," he decided. Sirius didn't need to borrow trouble, especially not now. Voldemort and the rest were planning on attempting to retrieve the prophecy about Harry from the Department of Mysteries, and Remus really did not want to have to have some final showdown there with Sirius in a bad mental state. He'd probably end up deciding to do some immensely stupid gesture, like challenging Bellatrix to a duel and falling through the Veil for his effort. That would be far too much like him.

"True," Sirius admitted. "Haven't talked to 'Sia lately, but that's mostly because I've been trying to pull Reggie's arse out of the fire every five minutes. God, that kid's high maintenance," he bitched after convincing the bartender to give him another drink. "I've no bloody idea how he's managed to live almost fifteen years without me to keep his life from exploding in his face. Actually, in retrospect, his wife probably managed that. She's good for him, you know. Strong personality, smart, and bloody gorgeous to boot. I approve."

Remus hid a grin and said, "Well, I'm sure he'll be glad when he realizes you approve."

"Better damn well be," Sirius grumbled.

"Seriously, though, Sirius. I'm happy for you," Remus said sincerely. "You should be, too. You deserve to be, so don't go thinking you don't."

"'m a shitty brother," Sirius grumbled. "Can't even fucking gather the courage to tell him I know he's him when he's not high as a kite on painkillers."

Remus realized where this conversation was going and what Sirius's comments earlier had meant. "Dorcas dragged you off to go tell him, didn't she?" he said, a little annoyed.

"Yup," Sirius replied. "She was right, though. Completely right. By the way, the _Raiders_ sequels were awesome. One of them even had James Bond in it!"

"I'm glad you've come to those conclusions," Remus said carefully. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why Sirius thought the two pieces of information were connected, but he had long since stopped trying to fathom the manner in which his friend's mind worked.

"By the way, Dorcas and I are bringing a new recruit to the Order meeting," Sirius said tangentially, clearly trying to steer the topic away from his existential pain. Unlike other times Sirius changed the topic of conversation from one that upset him to one that did not, Remus approved of this decision. He didn't know how else to tell his friend to stop whining, because at this point he was simply whining. Hopefully Sirius had received the message and was only on his whinging rampage because he was slightly drunk.

"And who's that?" Remus inquired, taking a drink of the soda he had ordered earlier.

"Moody's going to be _pissed_," Sirius explained conspiratorially.

Remus wished his deductive reasoning skills were not as good as they were, if only because of Sirius.

* * *

"Wait, I thought you two had already started having sex again," Auriga interrupted, highly confused. She was aware that Artemesia and Sirius had strange mating habits, but there was no decent reason in her mind to explain why they weren't shagging like bunnies. Hell, Auriga was surprised that Sirius had been able to keep his pants on for so long.

Artemesia sighed exasperatedly and in a clearly frustrated manner explained, "Well, if it were up to me, that would have happened a long while ago. However, I apparently have to go through the entire process of seducing him all over again. I swear to God, I don't care if he's worried that he's out of practice! I am, too, more or less, and, dammit, I want sex!"

Auriga raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'seducing him all over again'? I thought he was as easy as Newtonian physics," she inquired. "Didn't he sleep with a new bird each week when we were in school? I mean, it definitely seemed like it."

"No. Sirius could be one hell of a prude. Snog everything female on two legs, yes. Fuck 'em? Nah. I have it on good authority that Regulus would have if asked, but aside from that," Artemesia complained. "Why did I go after the prudish if slightly less fucked-up one?"

"Because Regulus had a spine made of Jello and Sirius is putty only in your hands," Auriga reminded her friend. She should not have suggested they have a drink. They should have had a non-alcoholic drink. Auriga should have specified that. Sure, Artemesia wasn't as much a lightweight as she seemed, but she liked to act like a drunk even if she'd only had one sip or two.

"Pfft. Regulus is as stubborn as an ox. Kid doesn't know when to quit," Artemesia argued, making her usual drunken gestures in the air. Okay, she might be in her cups, but there was no reason for her to be switching tenses this early in the night. "You know, Sirius was convinced that the only reason the kid decided to play Seeker on the Quidditch team was because it would give Slytherin an upper hand since at least one of the Gryffindor Beaters would be less than willing to send a bludger at him."

Auriga was uncertain that said argument was valid. "Doesn't that support the Sirius-is-paranoid theory instead of the Regulus-had-a-backbone one?" she asked, hoping that her line of inquiry was not to be hijacked and result in a dissertation on why the Black brothers were completely mental in their own special little ways.

"True," Artemesia had the decency to admit.

There was a brief silent gap, so Auriga decided she would be able to change the subject properly. "So, how about that decree of Umbridge's?" she said lamely. Even Auriga was aware she was the least subtle person on the planet.

"Does it even matter?" Artemesia asked in exasperation. "She's bloody mad. The Defense class has been completely destroyed despite all of Severus's efforts. What's the point of the class if they don't have practicals? It's like Potions without the potions-making!"

Auriga loved it when a plan came together. "Well, you do know that some people in government do not approve of the idea that children are taught how to defend themselves against that which they may never encounter. I mean, there are decent reasons for them preferring not to turn a school into a paramilitary institution," Auriga pointed out.

"I know, but I also know they base it on the argument that Muggles are the more dangerous ones. Sometimes I wonder if Vesta isn't right and that we should legalize hunting again," Artemesia grumbled. Auriga hadn't thought the topic of their conversation would lead them to another controversial topic, but there wasn't much she could do to stop it.

"Artemesia, look, the Wizarding World as a whole isn't too keen on stopping the practice of Obliviating hunters. They think we're worshiping the devil," Auriga argued. "And I know that while you think they do good, not everyone does. Sure, some of them can be reasoned with, especially when you point out that you weren't doing wrong, but there are still the nutters like the Van Helsings who don't care about intent."

"If it's supernatural, it's evil, you mean? That mentality? The hunters I've met have been perfectly nice and reasonable, although they're respected even amongst their own for living so long," Artemesia mentioned off-handedly. "Apparently there's elevated demon activity in the Midwest nowadays. No one's quite sure why, though. I know it's no reason for us to change our laws, but I've the feeling that hunters'll be focusing on bigger game soon. We're small fry in any world compared to demons and their pet warlocks."

Auriga sighed and said, "Stop being so obtuse. I know you're all for this stuff, but do you really think any of the old families will go for it? I mean, Sirius is the exception, not the rule, remember?"

"Hunters are still no reason for Umbridge to change the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum, especially now that most of the Campbells are gone. Training kids from birth to fight what goes bump in the night is just wrong," Artemesia declared, clearly having reached her booze limit. Auriga should have removed the empty bottle from the table when it was still at two-thirds full. "Sure, the Van Helsings are still around, but they're a bit whacky anyway."

"Well, Artemesia, the Van Helsings still scare a lot of people. Even some of the more recent magical families have family members who were killed by hunters, usually those related to the Van Helsings. So the US Department of Magic has gone soft on hunters, but the big families over there are, as you mentioned, relatively sane," Auriga said in counter-argument. "Also, there are so many different kinds of hauntings in the States that hunters don't bother to start witch-hunts nowadays. I mean, hunters over there just clean up the trash, right?"

"Pretty much," Artemesia admitted. "Still, fuck Umbridge. She's actually making Snape tell the kids about all this stuff, about who the big hunters are and why they do that sort of thing. It's sick, and she's spreading prejudice."

Auriga grimaced and said, "I see where you're coming from. I really do, but not everyone is as open-minded as you are. How many of _your_ ancestors were killed by hunters?"

"Twenty-four, not counting those from before the Founders. We were usually lucky enough to get away," Artemesia relented. "And Sirius has something in the hundreds, but the Ministry was as guilty as the hunters were in that. You remember the weird stories that used to be passed around? About necromancy running in his family? Apparently it was true."

Auriga recoiled. Necromancy? Really? Sure, some communicating with the true dead was okay, but full-blown raising people from their graves? That was just sick. "I take it that's why Bellatrix was nuttier than a fruit-cake?" Auriga inquired, seeking to decrease the tenseness in the room.

"No, she's just batshit, if it makes you feel better. Also, Sirius was paranoid for a while that he could sense that stuff, but Regulus thankfully slapped some sense into him," Artemesia explained. "The kid had done some research and found out that their family used to do the sort of services now associated with hunters, like getting rid of violent spirits, zombies, and the like."

"Why did Regulus have such a morbid fascination with that?" Auriga wondered. "I mean, he was interested in the weirdest shit aside from being a magical Nazi and spineless."

"I suppose it was the fact he's really good with destructive spells and their opposite number in healing," Artemesia mused. "That's more than enough to fuck someone up."

Auriga decided at this point that trying to derail Artemesia from her rant about her lack of sex had been about as intelligent as deciding to argue with a wall. "Right… And you were saying something earlier about Sirius?" she prompted, this time ready for the deluge.

"You cannot get me to switch topics that easily, Auriga," Artemesia declared. "I still had half a rant left in me about Umbridge and her racist ways. She makes Lucius Malfoy look like an innocent little Tribble. At least he isn't advocating whole-sale slaughter. Oh, wait. He is."

"That made no sense," Auriga gently pointed out. "And you're right about Umbridge, but we were talking about your relationship issues, remember?"

"You mean my lack of sex? Yes… I fucking hate the Blacks and their issues," Artemesia hissed, finally at her drunken point of no return. "They're about as sense-making as the Jabberwocky. They need to get with the program and stop acting like dumbasses."

"Regulus is dead."

"…Right. Well, Sirius needs to stop acting like a dumbass. I'll excuse the dead from my insults," Artemesia corrected. "And I'll instead say that Terry needs to also get with the program and stop acting like a dumbass, because his bullshit is about as annoying as Sirius's and results in Sirius being more ridiculous than usual. I am not going to stand for this nonsense, Auriga."

Yes, Auriga was getting non-alcoholic beer next time. No more hard liquor for Artemesia. Hard liquor bad, non-alcoholic beer good.

* * *

Hermione Granger had been minding her own business for the past hour, doing homework in the Great Hall. Ron and Harry were goofing off in another part of the castle, which gave her time to do her homework and edit their papers. On the bright side, at least Ron seemed to be actually reading her comments, unlike Harry. This was at least the sixth time she had needed to remind him of the comma splice. He seemed inordinately fond of it. Harry was slowly learning about organization, though, so Hermione couldn't complain.

Their Defense Against the Dark Arts class was becoming more insipid by the day. The class earlier that day was again about the Van Helsings. Contrary to all the Muggleborns' belief, Van Helsing did actually exist, and his descendents killed the creatures that went bump in the night. Hermione had since checked a book out of the library on the topic of these Muggle "hunters" in order to determine a less biased view. So far, Umbridge had hijacked the class and discussed two major families of hunters, one of which was the Van Helsings and the other of which was the Campbells. The latter was a now-defunct family of hunters that had been wiped off the face of the Earth by demons, apparently. In their heyday, they had been the plague of the magical community in North America, according to Umbridge.

Hermione had been swift to point out the flaw in Umbridge's logic. If the Campbells were hated by demons, they clearly could not be labeled Dark. If anything, they had to be allies with all good-affiliated beings in an unspoken manner. Umbridge had replied that the Campbells were ruthless when dealing with spirits and witches, regardless of circumstance, and gave Hermione a detention. Hermione later went to see Professor McGonagall with a complaint about the treatment, and Professor McGonagall had thankfully had a talk with Umbridge.

Now Hermione just had to write a paper on hunters. Umbridge had demanded fifty inches, but Hermione was going to give her 3,500 words on the matter, double-spaced with one-inch margins in Times New Roman. A ten-page paper seemed adequate to present her views, especially if she could acquire some reliable information about hunters.

As Hermione continued planning her academic revenge, a Hufflepuff interrupted her zen. It was one of the black-haired menaces. Yes, the Gemma girl was nice enough, but the other two were hell on wheels. "Yes?" Hermione said as she continued to work.

"I need some advice," the boy stated. He looked uncomfortable with the implied request, and Hermione had half a mind to simply ignore him. "I know you don't particularly like me, but I swear this will be the last time I bother you."

Hermione sighed and waved him on. She was becoming soft in her old age.

"So, you know how my sister's gone completely off the rails, right?" the boy began.

Hermione had to interrupt him. Yes, she had heard about the "going off the rails", but she wasn't so sure that was the best word for it. Gone Darkside, maybe. Regardless, the girl was well on her way to becoming a Death Eater-in-training. "I heard she's acting more and more like Malfoy by the day," Hermione acknowledged.

The boy looked upset that Hermione had been blunt, but she had a feeling that was because of the topic. "Yeah, but I know she doesn't believe in any of that crap," he explained. "She's just doing it to get back at our dad, because he's been, uh, lying to us about… what happened… in the last war." The kid was trying to hide that information, then. Hermione wondered why there would be such secrecy. On one hand, their father (Panther-man?) was clearly involved in the war effort. However, would the secrecy needed for that job require lying about "something" that would send his daughter into a self-destructive tailspin?

"Has she talked to your father about this?" Hermione asked, partially going back to reading her articles. She did have work to do, you know! Hermione earmarked the paper she was reading at the moment for another pass and a look at the sources.

The boy did not seem to mind that Hermione was working and talking to him simultaneously. He almost seemed to expect it. "I told her she should talk to him if she was so angry, but she bit my head off about how I couldn't handle the truth, and if I knew, my mind would be blown," the boy replied, clearly annoyed at his sister's behavior. He snorted and continued, "But it wasn't me that decided to go join the Empire. I just shouted at Dad until he properly explained himself."

Hermione sighed. Alas, she would have to work a little harder to remove the kid from her presence. "So you know whatever this big secret is?" she inquired. "Did you tell your sister that you know?" The situation was so predictable that Hermione didn't even look up from reading.

"Well, no, but then she'd get pissed at me, too, and Gemma isn't doing anyone any favors by antagonizing her," the boy continued. He was honestly distressed, and Hermione did feel sorry for him, but she did have work to do. Well, if she helped him, then he would leave.

"Your father's friends with Sirius, right? I trust him to be a more or less good judge of character, so this lie your father told was more likely than not to protect both you and your sister," Hermione reasoned, finally looking up from her work. "If you use that logic on your sister, she may listen. Furthermore, if her friends are willing to listen to or side with you, then try to convince them to use the same logic on her."

"Macha's too angry to listen to reason," the boy protested with a slight whine. Hermione was bizarrely reminded of the look on Sirius's face when Molly ordered him to clean the bathrooms in Grimmauld. "Her temper's worse than Mom and Dad's combined."

"Well, what's your dad hiding?" Hermione asked, trying to figure out an alternate way to resolve the situation and have the kid remove himself from her presence. Alas, her dreams of being left alone were shattered when Harry waltzed over with the Charms paper they had to write by the end of the week.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, sitting down at her table with a questioning glance thrown in the direction of boy. "Hey, you're Secret-Agent Man's kid, right?" For the younger boy's part, he didn't look exasperated at Harry's nonchalance.

Hermione sighed and ignoring Harry's comment explained, "He's trying to keep his sister from joining the Hitler Youth to spite their father, because apparently there's a state secret he lied to them about."

"Really?" Harry said pensively. "Huh. So your sister figured out your dad's an ex-Death Eater? He's definitely a cool dude now, though. Otherwise Sirius would've told him to bugger off once he realized your dad is his bro. Well, assuming Sirius has figured it out by now."

Hermione stared at Harry. She had been wondering when he would become convinced of another conspiracy theory. They were overdue for an outbreak of his neuroticism for about four months now. "Harry, stop being ridiculous," Hermione pleaded. "This is serious."

"Well, no, 'cause we're talking about his brother."

"HARRY."

Harry didn't even have the decency to stop acting like an ass and asked, "What?" in confusion. "It's true, you know. I mean, it makes sense. Following Sirius around, looking like his twin, doesn't understand the concept of subtlety… I could continue. Oh, and he's spying on the Death Eaters, clearly. Plus, Dumbledore trusts him, so he has to be a good guy."

Hermione rolled her eyes and apologized to the boy (Leo, that was his name!), "I'm sorry. Harry occasionally has paranoid delusions. For good reason, really, seeing as we've had at least one person try to kill him per year thus far. However, we are aware that your problems are very serious, and we do not mean to belittle them." Hermione sent a meaningful glare Harry's way to drive home the point he shouldn't be airing his conspiracy theory at this time.

Leo looked more or less disturbed by Harry's outburst. "Er, thanks," he said hesitantly. "But it's all right." He continued to stare at Harry in confusion as he said, "Well, uh, thanks for your help, Hermione. Sorry for bothering you. I'll just be going now." There was a pause. "Bye," he said before practically running off.

Hermione turned to Harry and accused, "This is why we can't have nice things!"

Harry shrugged and said, "Some people can't handle the truth."

"Argh! Fine. Whatever. Just leave your Charms essay and go! I'll get it back to you by tomorrow sometime, but I need to write my extra essay now, so if you'd leave," Hermione declared exasperatedly. Her workspace was starting to become more and more hectic. The library was for research, not conversations about spies and Harry's—Okay, so it was the place Harry's conspiracy theories were either validated or debunked, but that was beside the point.

"Okay," Harry said with a grin. "I'll see you later. Good luck with your essay." He then willingly left the library, likely to go hang out with Ron as he fabricated his Divination homework.

Hermione found herself in a now quiet and peaceful workspace. All was right in the world. She returned to her much neglected homework and began to write.

* * *

**_Notes_**_: A revised chapters 36 & 37 have been posted reflecting edits I forgot to make to my electronic copies.  
_

**_Coming Soon_**_: Regulus and Sirius act par for the course.  
_


	51. Folsom Prison Blues

Dorcas was in the _Zone_. She and Sirius were currently sitting at the dining room table, waiting for the rest of the Order to show up. He was doing the crossword, and she was currently doodling all over the political sections of the _Times_. New Labour seemed to be a good change from Thatcher, and the Bosnian peace agreement seemed to be holding, even if the Troubles looked to be flaring up again.

As Dorcas put the final touches on her Dalek doodle, Regulus decided to make his grand entrance. He—put simply—looked like a train had run him over. Dorcas honest to Merlin winced in sympathy. For her efforts, Regulus simply sent her an unamused look and sat down across from Sirius. "How long is this going to take?" he asked, sounding absolutely miserable.

"Go back home and take a nap, White," Sirius said, concentrating on the crossword. "You look and sound like shit. It's in everyone's best interests."

"I'm fine," Regulus protested ineffectually. Since he wasn't being listened or really paid attention to, he took the opportunity to flop down onto the table.

Dorcas raised an eyebrow and commented, "Yes, you're perfectly all right." He looked like he had rolled out of bed, now that Dorcas took the time to notice. His shirt was rumpled, and his hair was in complete disarray. There were indeed multiple explanations for how he looked, but Dorcas was willing to bet Regulus had just been bedridden for a while.

Sirius looked up from the crossword. Taking in Regulus's appearance, Sirius declared, "You really should be in bed." Regulus flipped him off, so Sirius amended, "Fine. Stay and be masochistic. You want me to get you anything so you don't pass out? Chicken noodle soup?"

"That sounds awesome, but no caffeine. Caffeine bad," Regulus replied, a touch incoherent. "Can't keep it down yet. Oh, God, espresso…"

Dorcas was highly amused as Sirius rolled his eyes and left to go to the kitchen for some soup. Regulus barely noticed, but Dorcas was fairly sure that was because he was half-asleep. Barty reappeared at this point, and Dorcas suggested, "You might want to go back to hiding in the bathroom. It's only the four of us thus far. Don't want Moody to kill you without Sirius explaining you had a change of heart."

"Is Reg okay?" Barty inquired before double-taking at the door to make sure Sirius wasn't around. Dorcas was uncertain as to whether or not she should tell Barty the news about Siri- and Reggiekins. On one hand, Barty and Sirius would have fights like they used to, complete with attempted murder. On the other hand, Barty trying to argue for Regulus's best interests to Sirius without mentioning the trump card of "He's your brother!" would be beneficial in the long run. Dorcas decided to wait a little longer.

"Yeah. Just more or less unconscious," she reported.

"I am not asleep," Regulus protested lamely. He sounded asleep. He was ignored.

Clearly Barty did not want to return to the bathroom, but Dorcas knew he would. "Fine, then. I'll come back later after the meeting starts," Barty conceded, glancing one last time at Regulus before disappearing.

Sirius shortly returned with soup (clearly instant) and set the bowl in front of his brother, who more or less stared at the food for a good five minutes before hazarding trying to eat it. Dorcas chose that moment to start discussing the current strategic and logistical problems the Order was dealing with. Sirius disagreed with some of her solutions, which was as normal as anything. If he had agreed with her, she would have suspected that something was wrong. On Sirius's behalf, Dorcas was glad that Regulus did manage to keep down the soup. She didn't want to think about what his response would be to Sirius's overprotective fussing.

Slowly but surely, the Order began to trickle in. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks entered together, discussing some case they were working for the Ministry. Dorcas thought it sounded like a run-of-the-mill crime of passion. Once they sat down at the table near Dorcas and her minions, Tonks couldn't help but stare at her more or less hapless cousin currently occupied with oozing onto the table. "Is he all right?" Tonks asked sotto voce. "I mean—"

"I am fine," Regulus declared, clearly annoyed by the attention. Dorcas figured he hadn't realized he's fallen asleep between finishing off the soup and Tonks' query.

"You look like shit," Kingsley commented neutrally. Yes, Dorcas liked Kingsley.

"He feels like it," Sirius replied off-handedly, earning himself a half-hearted whack from his brother. "See? He isn't even sniping at me verbally. He's clearly feeling like crap."

"Sirius, stop being an SOB," Regulus muttered, by this point aware he was going to be ignored and mocked for the rest of the day. "Oh, wait. You can't."

Sirius grinned. Dorcas was glad that Sirius was more amused than depressed by Regulus's behavior now. Maybe he would stop acting like such a sad, pathetic pain in her ass. "Oh, maybe we should stop criticizing him for his illness," Dorcas mused. "However, I'm none too sure about his fashion choices. Really, Terry? Plaid flannel pants? Sirius could do better."

"What's wrong with my sense of style?" Sirius demanded, clearly insulted. Dorcas did not believe she needed to deign him with a response. His ensemble was clearly coordinated by the color-blind, which may have accounted for why Barty was avoiding him even more than usual. Oblivious to Dorcas's musings, Sirius continued, "Besides, White's entitled to wear whatever he wants right now. As long as he doesn't barf on the Persian carpets, I'm good."

"Was that praise or an insult?" Regulus asked, clearly confused out of his mind. He actually managed to lift himself off the table to ask the question. Dorcas made a note to stop ribbing him about his appearance as she did another once-over on him. He looked dreadful, and the fact that he seemed unable to sit upright for more than a minute was less than reassuring.

Tonks looked back and forth between Sirius and Regulus. Dorcas wondered if she was about to join the "Oh, look, they're clearly related" camp. Alas, Tonks proved herself to be one of the Blacks and said, "The plaid isn't that bad. Plus, Sirius probably means well."

" 'Probably?' " Sirius repeated.

Completely ignoring the impending nuclear meltdown, Kingsley calmly inquired, "How have you been, Dorcas? I heard that you somehow evaded death at the hands of the Death Eaters, but I must say I had not expected you to resume your post here."

Dorcas shrugged and replied, "Eh, I had nothing better to do. Besides, someone has to keep these idiots from completely fucking everything up." She gestured at the indignant fashion victim and puddle of goo. At Kingsley's raised eyebrow, Dorcas explained faux-seriously, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Shacklebolt. You really don't want to know."

"Dorcas, it's 'than are dreamt of in your philosophy,' " the aforementioned puddle of goo protested. Well, he looked less like a puddle of goo now that he had managed to prop himself up on the table. Dorcas surmised that his improved state was largely due to the kindness of a certain house-elf that was far more attached to him than she would have otherwise thought possible.

"I don't believe she meant to finish the quotation, Mr. White," Kingsley reasonably pointed out. Unlike a good portion of the others in the Order, Kingsley did not seem to judge Regulus for his inability to take time off and the resultant incoherence.

Regulus glared at Dorcas miserably before conceding, "I suppose you're right." He sighed and said, "I suppose I should properly introduce myself. I know we've more or less met at a previous Order meeting, but this is more or less the first time we've really talked. Anyway, call me Terry. 'Mr. White' makes me sound like an old man, like Sirius or something." Dorcas assumed the only reason Sirius didn't slap him upside the head for that comment was that Regulus looked like a slight breeze would knock him over.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kingsley replied, a slight smile on his face. Dorcas had the feeling he was struggling not to break into a grin. "I take it you have been friends with Dorcas since she escaped from the Malfoy's basement, but how did you form an acquaintance with Black? He's not the most sociable person in the world."

"I remind him of his dead brother," Regulus explained, clearly about to embark upon a new voyage into depression. Dorcas had half a mind to stop it, but the possibilities were too great to prevent the impending catastrophe. Also, Regulus might be better off airing his grievances to an impartial third party instead of the highly biased Barty and—to a far lesser degree—Dorcas.

Kingsley clearly considered how to reply to that statement, especially considering Regulus' current uncertain health, both mental and physical. Finally, he commented neutrally, "Poor bastard was KIA during the last war, I assume?"

Regulus nodded stiffly. He was unlikely to continue talking about it, despite all Dorcas' hopes and dreams, but his decision did indeed make sense. After all, more and more people were filing into the room. Snape had unsurprisingly taken his seat on the opposite side of the table from Sirius, and McGoogles was exactly fifteen minutes early. The members of the Weasley clan were coming in at random intervals, however. Dorcas could only count Bill, also known as the Confused Banker of Gringotts. She had no delusions about when Fletcher would grace them with his presence, but Moody was going to be precisely on time, which left no way to warn him about the oncoming shit-storm.

"Are you certain we haven't met outside of the Order?" Kingsley inquired.

Regulus looked tenser than usual and answered, "Fairly. Unless we were in the same House at Hogwarts, I don't think we would have. I was never one for attracting trouble—" Lies. Egregious, egregious lies. "—so even if you were a prefect, I likely wouldn't have met you."

Dorcas knew otherwise. Regulus had not attracted trouble while at school because he had never been caught. Well, excepting one time where he was caught roaming the halls after-hours. Apparently. Dorcas did not believe she had even scratched the surface of how the Black brothers operated in regards to each other, so her information was potentially even more erroneous than she thought. Regulus would likely have toned down anything that happened to him when relating the story to Sirius, who would have censored the tale to whomever he informed of the events.

"That's precisely it!" Kingsley declared. Having settled on from where he recognized Regulus, Kingsley explained, "You were in Slytherin, correct? Graduated in '81? I gave you a detention right after winter holidays for staying out past curfew."

Regulus looked like a deer in the headlights. Dorcas found the reaction adorable. The younger Black brother was trying to avoid checking to see if Sirius was listening while trying not to seem as if he was checking whilst trying to determine the best way to answer the question without announcing his identity to the whole table. Dorcas wondered not for the first time if the poor kid shouldn't have been on anti-anxiety medication. That stuff would probably do him a whole world of good. "That sounds familiar," Regulus admitted weakly, nervous as hell. "Usually didn't get caught, but I usually didn't stay out that long, either." More lies.

Dorcas considered intervening, but Kingsley seemed more amused than annoyed that Regulus was so obviously lying. "Didn't seem like it at the time. You were pretty jaded, even then. Let me guess, that was the only time you were caught," Kingsley deduced. Regulus's lack of an answer convinced Kingsley to say, "I thought so. Helped me realize that some of the Slytherins were like the rest of us and thus worth saving."

Regulus blanched further, which Dorcas had not thought possible at the present, what with the deathly pallor he was currently sporting. He tried not to stammer, but he couldn't completely hide how he felt. "I'm glad I managed to accomplish something good," Regulus murmured, looking bizarrely morose.

"Hey, cheer up, White. I didn't mean it that way," Kingsley reassured him. With a grin, he continued, "You're a good guy. It showed even then."

Regulus could only grimace, but he did somehow manage to say "Thanks."

Intent on proving that her friend was not an asshole, Dorcas interjected, "You know, you should really start wearing a sign saying that you're on painkillers, also known as you're delirious and in pain." She turned to Kingsley and apologized, "He's been pretty ill lately, and his social skills have atrophied in the past, oh, month or so."

Promptly feeling like an ass, Regulus apologized, "She's right. I'm sorry." He sighed and admitted, "I've been snapping at everyone lately."

Kingsley didn't seem to have been offended in the first place but assuaged Regulus's guilt anyway: "It's all right. I didn't expect much of a conversation out of you."

Regulus half-smiled and returned to staring purposelessly at the table. Dorcas decided to then discuss with Kingsley the crime he and Tonks were investigating. It took another twenty minutes for the rest of the Order to appear. Indeed, Mundungus was very late.

The meeting began with Dumbledore giving a brief outline of the meeting. Dorcas could tell that Regulus was fading quickly, but he was trying his best to pay attention. Dorcas could barely pay attention to the discussion of when everyone was free to look after the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. How could Voldemort find his way into the Ministry? Why would Harry, the other subject of the prophecy, find his way into the Ministry to give Voldemort the prophecy? There was no point to this line of inquiry. None at all.

Sirius, thankfully, put his two cents in at that point and declared his feelings on the matter (they closely mirrored Dorcas'). However, most everyone else in the room glared at him. Thankfully, Sirius more or less took back what he said, and the meeting continued in a more or less productive manner. They covered the information Snape had acquired on the subject of the impending attack on the Ministry. Regulus seemed impassive, which gave Dorcas the impression that he already knew the information Snape was introducing. The ensuing argument was largely on the topic of what should be done. Sirius clearly wanted to express his displeasure with the entire concept in general, but Remus managed to keep him from exploding. Even though Sirius restrained himself, not everyone did. As the argument became more and more heated, Regulus became increasingly anxious, and when Sirius and Snape began to argue, he abruptly left. More or less everyone either ignored him or simply let him leave. Dorcas had the feeling that McGoogles was in the latter category. She actually looked fairly concerned.

The next subject was far more interesting from Dorcas' point of view. Sirius had the dubious pleasure of explaining to the rest of the Order who their newest recruit was. On the bright side, when Barty hesitantly walked in, Moody only shot a very nasty cutting curse at him.

* * *

Regulus was tiring of trying to convince Kreacher that giving him the locket was in everyone's best interest. He understood that Kreacher didn't want to give the damned thing to him because of what had happened the last time he was around the locket, but this time he actually could destroy it and not be drowned by inferi.

Finally, Kreacher would not listen anymore and disappeared with a pop, leaving Regulus in the middle of the parlor. He sat down behind the couch facing the fireplace and just tried to think up how to fix this mess. Kreacher was not supposed to tell any living relatives of Regulus' about what had happened or about the locket, and despite the fact that Regulus had rescinded his request about the latter, the house-elf was surprisingly firm in his resolve to prevent any harm from coming to his erstwhile master.

Despite ducking out halfway through the Order meeting, Regulus still felt like he had been repeatedly run over by a train. He didn't even feel like hauling himself up to lie down on the sofa behind him. It was too much effort. Merlin, he should have stayed home and come by Grimmauld to retrieve the locket after he had recovered some more. Sirius would likely ask questions, but Regulus was past caring at this point. For now, at least.

Speak of the devil. Who should appear but Sirius. He looked concerned about Regulus' general appearance (Regulus so did not blame him), which Regulus actually found somewhat irritating. Yes, he was adjusting to the fact that his brother was replacing him in his memory, but Regulus did not need to be reminded so sharply of that at the present time.

With a grimace, Sirius said, "Let's get you up." He made to help Regulus to one of the guest rooms, but there was no reason for Regulus to be treated like a stranger in his own house. He hadn't realized he had been broadcasting his emotions, but Sirius stopped and asked, "Hey, are you all right? It wasn't Moody's comments that freaked you out, was it?" With no reply given in a span of three seconds, Sirius then continued blindly, "You're a good man. You deserve redemption, all right? Just because you were once a Death Eater doesn't mean you're doomed to rot in hell or any bullshit like that. Moody was just pissed because of Crouch."

"I know," Regulus replied in exasperation, coming off grouchier than he meant to. "I mean, that wasn't what I was thinking about. It wasn't anything important," he apologized ineffectually. "I was trying to convince Kreacher to give me the locket."

"Why in God's name are you even thinking about work right now?" Sirius inquired. "You could have just stayed home, you know. You didn't need to come to the meeting. I could have filled you in later," he justified.

Regulus was about to retort, but he was interrupted by Sirius unceremoniously dragging him over to the bed. How they had arrived on the fourth floor was a mystery to Regulus. He hadn't even registered that they had left the parlor.

"Look, after the meeting, I'll take you back home. Seriously, Reggie, you look like shit. Get some sleep," Sirius declared in his my-word-is-law voice. He flashed a brief smile and left.

Regulus was somewhat annoyed that his brother had left him to stare at the ceiling, but there were worse ways to spend his time. Besides, sleep sounded like a brilliant option to him. Really brilliant…

Regulus woke a couple of hours later. He still felt terrible, but that was to be expected. His mind was far clearer than it had been before the nap. He still felt a little bleary-eyed, but the only thing he noticed was that he was in one of the least garishly colored rooms in the house. It had good color scheme; nothing looked like it had been recently alive. That left—Regulus sat up abruptly. A little too abruptly for his tastes, but so it goes. He was in his own room. _His_ room. As in white walls and blue duvet and newspaper clippings and all. Sirius put him in _his room_, not one of the guest rooms like he should have. No, apparently putting the friend you don't quite trust in your dead brother's room was the most brilliant plan in the world.

Regulus gingerly got out of bed. He couldn't believe Sirius. How could he? How could Sirius…!

Unwilling to believe Sirius had done this on accident, Regulus attempted to reason out why Sirius had put him in this room. Sirius either could have momentarily forgotten whom he was dealing with and deposited him in his brother's room because he was associating Regulus with Regulus, or he knew exactly what he was doing by putting him in here. So, the latter was more likely. Thus, Sirius either did it as a show of trust or—no, he wasn't going there. His drug-induced hallucinations and dreams were not reality. Just because he thought Sirius had told him he knew the truth did not mean that it was actually true. No, it didn't.

"What are you doing?" he asked himself harshly. Pulling himself together as best he could, Regulus left his childhood room and went searching for his (_how could you, Sirius? how could you?_) brother. Sirius wasn't hard to find. He was in the parlor, attempting to convince Kreacher to give up the horcrux. He stopped when he noticed that Regulus was standing in the doorway.

All of a sudden concerned, Sirius inquired, "Are you sure you should be up?"

"You put me in your brother's room."

Sirius could only stare at him, mouth agape. He didn't seem to have any reply.

"Exactly."

Regulus turned on his heel and left.

* * *

The slamming of the door was what shook Sirius out of his shock. Kreacher was staring at him with an eyebrow raised. Life was too short to be criticized by a house-elf, especially this one. Besides, if Regulus wanted to be a brat about this, then so be it.

"Kreacher thinks Master should talk to Ma—Mr. White," Kreacher suggested, rubbing in the fact that Sirius had clearly fucked up big time.

"Cut the crap, Kreacher. I know he's Reggie," Sirius snapped. "I'm not blind, you know." Shit, how had the day gone from bad to worse? Oh, right. There was an Order meeting.

Kreacher stared at him critically. Great, the house-elf was going as far to judge him. It wasn't even like Kreacher had the bloody moral high ground. "Master should sort out the argument with Master Regulus, because otherwise Master Regulus is unlikely to talk to Master for a long time," Kreacher suggested. Of course, he had to reinforce the crazy act and continued, "But what does Kreacher know? Kreacher hasn't watched the Masters grow up, oh, not at all. Kreacher doesn't know anything."

Annoyed beyond belief, Sirius snapped, "I get it. I know, okay? You're right, but it's not like Reg is going to be walking off in a huff. He's probably already apparated to God knows where. Even if he did go back home, I'd have to suffer the wrath of his wife, which I am not prepared to deal with right now. I've already had my ass chewed out by Dorcas this week. I don't need to add Vesta to that list."

Kreacher ignored everything Sirius said and blithely commented, "Master Regulus is still outside. When former Master and Mistress began to argue two years after current Master ran away to current Master's blood traitor friends, Master Regulus would not leave immediately."

Sirius rolled his eyes and demanded, "And why exactly would he not have changed in the past fifteen years, hm? It's not like either of us are much like we used to be."

"Because Kreacher knows the smell of the nasty nicotine."

Sirius growled, "For fuck's sake," and made a beeline for the back door. Sure the little bugger was obnoxious and more or less still hated him, but Kreacher wasn't about to lie about his favorite person in the whole world. Sure, Sirius could fall off a cliff for all Kreacher cared, but Merlin forbid Reggie give himself a bloody paper cut.

Sirius found his idiot little brother hiding in the back garden, smoking like the idiot he was. Regulus must have heard him, but he didn't make any indication he had. Sirius did feel awful about everything that had happened in the past few days, but he was sick and tired of pandering to the idiot's every little whim. Yeah, Reg had a right to be a bit high and a bit snappish because of the pain medication, but he didn't have the right to have a spaz attack over something that realistically shouldn't have made him angry, given his cover.

Before Sirius could figure out what to say, Regulus growled, "Just fuck off, Sirius."

"This is some pretty immature behavior, you know. Storming out of the house to smoke a fag in the backyard? What are we, in some soap opera?" Sirius snapped back. He then demanded, "And since when have you smoked?"

"Since the damn war began, asshole," Regulus retorted, turning to glare at Sirius.

"For fuck's sake, Regulus, stop being such a bloody drama queen," Sirius muttered under his breath. He looked sufficiently annoyed and condescending to incite the following retort.

"Well, Sirius, take your bloody superiority complex and shove it—" Regulus began harshly before properly absorbing what Sirius had really just said. "W-what? Y-you—what?" he stammered, unable to process what he had just been informed.

"Exactly, you idiot. And stop smoking. It causes cancer, you twat," Sirius said, grabbing the momentarily unguarded cigarette and tossing it in an empty flowerpot. Regulus was still staring at him with a mixture of confusion and hurt, so Sirius decided he might as well put the poor kid out of his misery. "I tried to tell you," he murmured.

Regulus continued to look shattered, staring in confusion at his older brother. "I thought…" he began, but he seemed unable to form any more words.

" 'S'all right," Sirius said, sitting next to his brother on the patio table. "You were pretty doped up at the time, and I probably should have said something earlier in any case."

"How long?" Regulus asked weakly. He didn't seem like he was going to go back to being angry, so Sirius decided to take a chance.

"Early January. I didn't want to say anything, just in case. I mean, Narcissa as good as said I was right, but, well… Fuck, Reggie, you're under a shit ton of stress, and I didn't want to make you worse, all right?" Sirius admitted. That was far more than he wanted to say, but he couldn't always get what he wanted, now could he? If this was the only way to keep his idiot little brother from going off and doing something stupid, then Sirius was going to damn well talk about this whole mess and—the more painful admission—his feelings. He couldn't bloody fuck up his relationship with his brother again. Regulus was barely holding himself together now with a support structure. Sirius didn't want to know what would happen if they alienated each other all over again, and he just didn't want to recreate that rift.

"You've known since _January_?" Regulus repeated, finally at the end of his rope. He was leaning more toward hurt than angry, for which Sirius was thankful. He knew how to handle his brother when he was in pain, but neither of them could easily deal with anger festering between them. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded with an undercurrent of pain, turning to look at his older brother. He—unsurprisingly, given the circumstances—looked on the verge of tears.

"Because of Bellatrix, partly," Sirius admitted. "But mostly because, well, I was scared. I didn't know how you would react, and I didn't want the past repeating itself." He did not want to talk about any of this, but he needed Regulus to forgive him. Sure, the kid was upset and stunned now, but once he started thinking clearly again, Regulus would become incredibly angry. Sirius knew his brother well enough to know that, regardless of the fifteen years or so they hadn't seen or heard from each other. And, for fuck's sake, he had missed the royal pain in the ass.

"I wouldn't have been angry," Regulus insisted with the same kicked-puppy look Sirius remembered from their childhood. He hesitated before continuing, "I really wouldn't have. I just don't know what to… no, how to react." Returning to his previous train of thought, Regulus repeated, "You knew? For that long?" A far more upsetting thought dawned on him, and he demanded, nearing terrified, "I didn't do or say anything that made it obvious, did I?"

"Not in public," Sirius reassured him, but he knew he had to admit, "But in our private conversations, well, we just slipped back into our old roles, our old habits. Yes, I do believe that's part of why I figured it all out, but looking back, I know you've been struggling with this since the summer. The thing is, you didn't need to. Fuck, Reg, you could have just told me. Sure, I might have been pissed at first, but do you really think I'd stay angry with you? Especially over this? Hell, were you even out of physical therapy by the time I got myself arrested?"

Hugging his knees to his chest, Regulus stayed silent for a moment before shaking his head. Sirius knew better than to think his brother was replying to the question he really wanted answered.

Sighing, Sirius said, "Look, Reggie, I'm not angry with you. I understand. I just want you to know that I'm sorry for not saying anything earlier. I feel like shit because of it, and I know you expected more from me." Searching for the right words, Sirius continued, "You've been depressed or at death's door since I realized, and I didn't want to make it all worse. I mean, I thought saying anything might just make everything worse, and then when I finally got the fucking courage up to tell you the bloody truth, you're out of your mind on painkillers."

Regulus' reaction was not what Sirius had really expected. His brother was still more or less curled up into a ball, but he was more obviously trying to keep himself from breaking down completely. "I'm sorry," Regulus began to repeat over and over, almost as if he was using it as a mantra to keep from truly dealing with his feelings.

Sirius wasn't sure what he should do. On the one hand, he could continue trying to reason away why he had done what he had done, or he could accept the fact that Regulus had apparently already forgiven him and offer his brother a shoulder to cry on. Uncertainly, Sirius opted to pat his brother's shoulder awkwardly and say, "Reg, it's all right. Really." (James would have mocked him forever for this.) "Come on, why don't we go back inside?"

Regulus, however, did not appear to be listening and instead took the awkward shoulder pat to mean "go ahead and hug me; it's not like we lose any more face at this point". Unfortunately, this development meant that Sirius had to figure out how to drag Regulus back inside before a public spectacle was made. God knew what the neighbors were thinking.

"Oh, fuck it," Sirius decided and hugged his brother back. It wasn't like he really cared about anyone else in the area. He was just trying to distract himself from finding a way to calm down his brother. Sirius knew shouldn't be acting so selfishly. He wasn't the one that was a sobbing mess; no, that was his baby brother, and he had no idea how to help him. There wasn't anything he could think of to say aside from more apologies, and those didn't seem to be working. Yes, Regulus kept sobbing his own apologies, but there wasn't anything for him to be apologizing for! Hell, if anyone was at fault for all of this, it was Sirius. Maybe he needed to say that, though. Regulus couldn't really think it was his fault, could he? In an attempt to be soothing instead of simply someone to cry on, Sirius murmured, "Reggie, listen to me. It's not your fault. You've nothing to be sorry for, and even if you did, I'd have forgiven you. All right?"

"No," Regulus cried. "No, you wouldn't, 'cause this isn't something you can forgive like that, and I'm so sorry, because it'll never be better, and it's all my fault." Shaking his head, he repeated, "It's all my fault. It's entirely my fault, and you shouldn't forgive me. Shouldn't, not ever. It's not something you should forgive."

The denial sparked a memory, and Sirius tried to remember what the damn boggart had said (oh, that incident made so much more sense now). Even if it wasn't true and Sirius didn't feel that way, he knew what he had to say. Sirius grabbed Regulus by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Reg, you could not have done anything," Sirius said firmly, hoping his brother would get the message. "You didn't know Peter was a traitor to the Order, so you couldn't have warned me. It's not your fault James and Lily are dead, and I don't blame you for it." More desperately, Sirius begged, "Please, stop blaming yourself."

Visibly shaking, Regulus murmured, "But it's my fault."

Sirius stood and shouted, "For fuck's sake, Regulus, it's not your fault!" Regulus flinched as he said it, but Sirius needed him to just accept that. He didn't want an argument. "It's not your bloody fault, so can we fucking drop it?" He couldn't handle the argument, because he did not want to let his brother convince him of _that_.

Regulus nodded sharply and murmured, "I should probably go, shouldn't I?"

Sirius sighed and said apologetically, "No, Reg. I just can't talk about it, okay? I didn't mean to snap." Regulus was keeping his distance now, even though Sirius had sat down again. He couldn't let this conversation end like this, not if he wanted to be able to ever have a frank conversation with his little brother ever again. "Still the same ground rules, right? We don't bring up the end of the first war. Everyone feels better," Sirius commented inanely.

"I don't," Regulus disagreed. He was pulling at the hem of his shirt cuff. "I can't just stay quiet about all of it, Sirius. I need someone to talk to," he admitted nervously. "Vesta tries her best, but she just doesn't get all of it. I know she tries to understand why I did what I did, but I can't make her understand all of _this_." He gestured vaguely at the house. "You know Barty isn't exactly the best person to talk to, and Dorcas, well, let's not get into why she's godawful."

Sirius watched his brother silently. Regulus' body language backed up too much of what he was saying for Sirius's tastes. After a moment, he asked calmly, "What did Bella do? Don't deny that she's the reason you're scared. Hell, just from what she's recently put you through…"

Regulus half-shrugged. He was clearly trying to avoid talking about what was going on with Bella despite what he said. Sirius really did not like what that implied. Regulus attempted to side-track and asked, "No, look, we can talk about this later, all right? Still have to get the damn locket away from Kreacher, yeah?"

Sirius grabbed his brother's right wrist (he was not going to risk a spaz attack by attempting to touch his left arm at all). "Regulus. Please."

With great reluctance, Regulus murmured, "All right, just not outside, okay?" Sirius let go, happy with that response, but Regulus seemed to realize that they had been talking about everything outside as well. "Oh, God. Oh, shit, we've—" Regulus broke off, starting to panic.

Sirius grimaced and said soothingly, "C'mon. Let's just go back inside. How does some tea sound?" Regulus nodded absently, still caught up with his thoughts. He didn't protest or even seem to notice as Sirius more or less dragged him back inside and to the kitchen table. "Earl Grey?" Sirius asked in an attempt to shake Regulus out of whatever was wrong now. He didn't receive a reply, so he began to list the varied and bizarre teas Kreacher had deigned to stock the kitchen with: "Ginger? Jasmine? Corn? (Wait, what the hell?) Oh, thank God, Lapsang Souchong… _Monkey-picked_ oolong tea? Okay, that's it, I'm giving Kreacher some guidelines next time." Sirius was unimpressed with his brother's lack of a reaction, but what in the name of God was with the tin full of green powder? "And we have Matt-cha or whatever the fuck this powdery green shit is."

"Matcha. Japanese, used in tea ceremonies," Regulus supplied, far more with it than he had been only moments before. He had walked over to Sirius and was more or less currently trying to shoo him away. "I'll make it. You'll end up dumping the whole tin in the teapot."

"Well, how the hell else is it going to make tea? It's freaking powder!" Sirius protested, glad his brother was actually doing something and attempting to keep lightening the mood. He could damn well tell Regulus needed it. Maybe he would be better off asking what was bothering the kid later. Regulus had probably had enough emotional upheaval for one day.

Sirius sat down at the table. He was better off waiting for Regulus to say anything, really. As the water boiled, he wasn't disappointed. "I'm sure you're thinking all of this—" Regulus gestured at himself. "—is Bellatrix's fault," he murmured. "You're not wrong, but… I can't remember, Sirius. I blocked so much of it out." He looked down at the floor in shame. "I'm fairly certain it was her, but I don't want to remember. You know how she gets. I don't know what's real and what's nightmare or hallucination anymore." Sirius did not like the sound of that at all, and it showed on his face. Frustrated, Regulus amended, "Not like that. I mean in retrospect. I'm not having a psychotic break. I just can't sort everything anymore. I can't figure out what actually happened and what I was afraid of happening or anything." Nervously, he ran his hand through his hair. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"I take it she used everything she ever learned?" Sirius suggested, halfway to hunting Bellatrix down himself. He quickly added, "You don't need to answer that if you don't want."

"I was a fucking lab rat," Regulus mumbled, fear and pain creeping back into his voice. He stood there, in front of the stove, shaking, until the kettle started to whistle. The noise seemed to bring him back to the here and now, and he momentarily busied himself with the tea.

Sirius was starting to understand what Regulus meant when he said that Sirius was the only one he could really talk to about this. He stood and walked over to his brother. Regulus had started crying again, and Sirius put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Gently, he asked, "What did Bella do to get you to join, Reg? I know you said she threatened you, and believe me, I understand that. But even then you were becoming more and more distant. Fuck, Dad even wanted me to keep an eye on you and make sure you were all right."

Regulus tried to compose himself before he said, "I want to tell you, but… Oh, God, I can't. I'm so sorry, but I can't. I'm sorry." Regulus was shaking like a leaf, and Sirius knew he really was not going to tease any more information out of his brother today.

"Hey, let me finish this up. Why don't you go to the parlor or the library? I'll find you there," Sirius suggested, attempting to dissuade Regulus from handling scalding hot water. The glare Regulus sent at him was more than enough to make Sirius realize he was needed to tone down the overprotective. "Okay, nevermind then. Kitchen table?" Sirius revised.

Regulus rolled his eyes. As the two of them were sitting in awkward silence, Sirius decided to break said silence and said, "So, your wife's a babe. Good job." The strangled noise his brother made was more than enough to reaffirm Sirius's faith in the universe. "Yes?"

"Message received. Can we please discuss something other than …_any _of that?" Regulus said, sounding a bit desperate and not a little embarrassed. Sirius made a note to mock him later. "Look, talk about quidditch, Lupin's continuing struggles to get laid, anything but Vesta and how you're amused that I 'copied you'. Oh, don't even deny that you're thinking it."

"Wasn't gonna," Sirius agreed, far more amused than he had a right to be.

With an exasperated sigh, Regulus drank tea and stared at nothing. After a moment, he asked, "What about the locket? Kreacher won't give it to me because it's mind-altering. Why was he objecting giving it to you? Do you think Dorcas could convince him to give it up?"

Sirius shrugged, glad the doofus was back in working order. He should have known that making a random comment like he had would snap Regulus out of that funk. Well, maybe not snap him out of it, Sirius revised. Regulus still seemed shaken, but he had managed to clamp down on whatever was bothering him to the point that he could function.

With a grin, Sirius replied, "Hey, don't worry about it. Kreacher was just being a curmudgeon. I was halfway to convincing him that giving me the damn thing was for the best. I told him I wanted to wipe it off the face of the earth; he seemed to accept that. I figure he can probably tell you're not in a good place to deal with the thing, which is why he responded differently. Also, I brought the huge bloody sword with me."

"Going to destroy it now?" Regulus inquired. "That's a bit dangerous, don't you think?" He looked down at the table for a moment before continuing, "I still don't know if Voldemort can tell when we destroy the horcruxes. I haven't been able to attend a meeting lately."

"Skive off as long as you can," Sirius interrupted. "Andromeda seemed pretty damn concerned when she contacted me and again when I received the message through Tonks and Dorcas. From what I could gather from Andromeda's letter, someone's gunning for you."

"What else is new?" Regulus muttered with a frown. "Bella's never believed I was sincere, and Rabastan does whatever she or Rudolphus says. Of course, Rudolphus hates me on principle, so take your pick of who wants to stab me in the back."

"Look, Reg, just promise me you'll be careful until I can talk to Andy, all right? Then we can figure out who you should really watch your back around," Sirius requested.

Regulus nodded before he mentioned, "Vesta's not letting me go anywhere for at least another week anyway. She's afraid I'll go and get myself killed if I keep pushing myself before I recover from this damn flu."

"Regulus, you have pneumonia," Sirius reminded him. Regulus stared at him like there was nothing wrong with that. Exasperated, Sirius declared, "Go home. Lay down. Watch crappy TV. I'll deal with the horcruxes we have and join you later for marathons of 'M*A*S*H' or whatever that show is that you and Dorcas have been watching lately. I'll bring Chinese."

Sirius was about to continue, since Regulus had a defiant look on his face, but the kid gave in. With a sigh, Regulus buckled and said, "Fine. Just don't talk to Diana. She's not taken this news well. Keeps trying to convince me I should obliviate her for the sake of the mission." With a wicked grin, he also mentioned, "Oh, and Artemesia's in town. No take-backs."

"You are evil, you know that?"

"Love you, too, big brother."

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Andromeda is annoyed, and noodles fly everywhere.  
_


	52. You Can't Always Get What You Want

As she made her way to the kitchen, Artemesia was unsurprised to discover Regulus asleep on the couch. Probably, he had fallen asleep watching a documentary about the Great War, which was just ending. She was still unclear on why he put himself to sleep using the television as background noise, but she couldn't deny that it worked.

Artemesia found her cousin sitting at the kitchen table, looking through a magazine. "I see your pet finally started listening to you," she commented blithely as she rummaged through the cupboard for some tea. "He's passed out on the couch."

Vesta rolled her eyes. She was plainly going to ignore Artemesia's initial comment. Looking up from her magazine, she corrected, "Not really. He only returned about an hour ago. Apparently, his brother managed to convince him to duck out halfway through that meeting of theirs for a nap and let him handle whatever it is they're up to." Glancing at what Artemesia was doing, she added, "The kettle's under the sink. Don't ask."

"He really listened?" Artemesia asked, locating the kettle, and commented, "That's bizarre. Are you sure he's not a pod-person? Since when has Regulus been that flexible?" She glanced towards the door and said, "I should watch myself, shouldn't I? Diana could be around."

Vesta groaned and said, "Normally, I'd say go right ahead, but _someone_ decided to tell her the truth last week, and now she keeps badgering everyone who knows to obliviate her."

Artemesia blinked. "That's unexpected," she mentioned. "Why would she be flipping out? It's not like your parents would pull what my mother did, and she's just in the periphery." She dropped the appropriate number of tea bags in the pot and waited for the water to finish boiling. "By the way, how do you want your tea?"

"Just a little honey and lemon," Vesta replied, somewhat distracted. Artemesia was starting to suspect that her cousin was keeping something from her. She was proved right when Vesta grinned diabolically and mentioned, "Regulus apologizes profusely in advance."

Artemesia groaned and realized, "He invited him over, didn't he?" Annoyed, she demanded, "Does he have any sense of what other people want? Any sense at all? Just because I'm annoyed that I'm not getting any does not mean that it's okay for him to play match-maker."

"In my husband's defense, I don't think he was thinking clearly when he suggested it. Furthermore, we are getting free Chinese food out of the deal," Vesta explained rationally. Artemesia had the feeling she was obfuscating. "That, and I think this is some sort of peace-offering between the two of them. Regulus was bizarrely chipper when he mentioned it."

"What, d'you think Sirius bribed him with Chinese food to get him to come back here and sleep? That's unlikely," Artemesia declared, ever the doubter.

In response, Vesta shrugged, and Artemesia heard a knock on the front door. "I'm busy reading," Vesta mentioned. "You should go answer the door. I'll fix the tea." She did her best to look innocent, but Artemesia could see right through her. "Oh, go on. You may not be getting laid, but he'd do anything else for you, right? Stop being a socially awkward penguin."

Artemesia glared but went to go answer the door regardless. The sight that awaited her was not the one she expected. "Diana, why do you look like a drowned rat?" she asked, honestly wanting to hear the rest of the story.

Shoving her wet coat at Artemesia, Diana grumbled, "My so-called friends decided it was Push-Diana-In-The-Pool Day. They said they didn't think I'd actually fall in, but what did they expect? They know I'm the clumsiest of them all." She further shoved her messenger bag at Artemesia. On the bright side, at least Diana's books weren't ruined.

"Why don't you get some tea in the kitchen. Vesta's making some. Adding all sorts of things you don't like to it, like milk and those tapioca things you had once when Aunt Juno sent you and your friends to Japan two years ago," Artemesia mentioned offhandedly. "I think she knew you were coming. Made it specially for you."

Diana seemed to not understand Artemesia was joking and ran over into the kitchen, trailing water the whole way. Artemesia cleaned the water up; she really hoped her younger cousin was normally a bit more respectful of her house. More amused than annoyed, Artemesia returned to the kitchen to find Diana looking annoyed as Vesta was grinning like a loon. In the meantime, Vesta had set out the tea, with the cup sitting in front of Diana exactly what she didn't want (minus the tapioca).

"That's irony for you, isn't it?" Artemesia deadpanned, taking her seat in front of the untouched cup of tea. The slamming of the front door had managed to wake Regulus, who wandered into the room looking highly confused and disheveled.

"Hey, Artemesia," he managed before collapsing into one of the seats at the table. Regulus took one look at the tea in front of Diana before turning slightly green and excusing himself. Artemesia actually felt sorry for the poor bastard. She figured he would be otherwise occupied in the restroom for the foreseeable future.

Vesta looked slightly concerned for Regulus, but judging by her inaction, a mad dash for the bathroom was not out of the ordinary. To Diana, she apologized with a grin, "I couldn't resist." She likely didn't completely mean it, but Artemesia couldn't fault her for messing with Diana, who was shaping up to be the most mature adult on the premises.

Artemesia rolled her eyes before remembering that she had been meaning to talk to Vesta. Turning to Diana, she said, "Shoo. Go clean yourself up. Your sister and I need to have grown up talk." Diana glared but left regardless. After the departure, Artemesia mentioned, "I found out why Macha's not been writing. Took forever to put the story together from Gemma and Leo's conflicting reports."

Vesta turned serious and took her seat at the table. "What happened?" she asked, concerned. Artemesia knew Vesta had been worrying; even though Macha was still sporadically writing to her mother, she had not mentioned the reason she had stopped writing to her father. "Did the Malfoy brat do something again?"

Artemesia shook her head. "No. Macha decided to do some researching of her own. When she found some information she didn't like, instead of writing to either of you or talking to me, she made assumptions and is currently acting on them," Artemesia explained, honestly trying to find a way to break the news gently. With a sigh, Artemesia attempted again, "She hasn't dug any deeper than what she already knows, according to Leo, so she's assuming that the rest of us are oblivious and her father's a Nazi."

Vesta stared. Artemesia could tell that she was restraining herself from throwing the mug at a wall. In a creepily calm manner, Vesta inquired, "What else have they decided?"

Artemesia hesitated but replied, "Leo's fine with it all, since Regulus talked to him before break." She considered inquiring why Regulus hadn't also talked to Macha, but Artemesia had a feeling that Macha would have reacted poorly even then. "And Gemma is giving her father a run for his money," Artemesia added instead. "She knows what Regulus is doing, but I think she's willfully decided to ignore more or less every other piece of information that's come her way."

"Hence why it has taken so long for you to put this story together?" Vesta suggested.

"More or less. Leo was a bit paranoid when I first asked him about what was wrong with his sister, but he seemed to realize that I had to know something and became far more talkative after that," Artemesia explained. After a pause, she asked, "Why did none of us say anything?"

Vesta looked down at her cooling tea. "Regulus and I had half a mind to, but neither of us really wanted to risk hurting them like this," she admitted. After a long pause, Vesta said, "Thank you for talking to the children, Artemesia. You didn't have to."

Artemesia shrugged off the thanks and reassured, "I don't blame you for not telling them, Vesta." With a curt laugh, she continued, "In the best of all possible worlds, you wouldn't have had to hide any of this from them in the first place."

Vesta smiled slightly and replied, "In the best of all possible worlds, we would have had a legitimate excuse to avoid staying for the grand family Christmas celebration every year."

Artemesia grinned and replied, "Yeah, complete with the Lost Boys, no less." Her smile faded as she murmured, "But we have what we have, so Mom's eternally disappointed with me, and you have to suffer through family holidays while Regulus is melancholy off in a corner."

"He's gotten better," Vesta half-heartedly protested. "As long as he's busy doing something, he's happy. That's more or less why Mom always tells him to watch the kids, even if she thinks he gets depressed because his family died in a car crash."

"Was that really the best explanation he could come up with?" Artemesia asked yet again. She had thought it was problematic the first time she had heard it, and her opinion of his cover story had lessened even more over time.

Vesta half-glared at her and protested, "It was convenient, Artemesia, and the story could explain everything. Well, almost everything. The rest I more or less told the truth about."

Artemesia stared at her tea and murmured, "I have no idea how Sirius could be so blind, even then. Hell, _Lily_ could tell there was something wrong with Regulus despite their near nonexistent interactions, and Sirius couldn't bring himself to believe Regulus was in a bad way." She sighed and asked, "Speaking of, how is the depression?"

Vesta grimaced and replied, "He's taking his meds, thank God, but it's not working as well as I'd like. Granted, that may be because he's ill, but I swear this afternoon was the happiest I've seen him since Christmas." Vesta shook her head before she seemed to realize something. "You don't think…?" she began. Artemesia looked confused, so Vesta continued, "They couldn't have actually _talked_ to each other, could they?"

Artemesia blinked a few times before understanding what Vesta meant. "You think Sirius and Regulus actually had a conversation? Wherein they actually talked to each other? And they stopped acting like emotionally repressed idiots? Are we sure they're capable of that? I mean, Regulus is, so the idea isn't completely out of left field, but…"

The two of them fell into silence before Vesta declared, "It's the only explanation."

Very seriously, Artemesia asked, "Is it inappropriate if I shout, 'About damn time!' when we're informed?"

"No," Vesta replied, calmly drinking her tea. "I'll probably join you."

* * *

"Sirius, have you ever been on time for anything in your life?" Andromeda inquired as her fool cousin presented himself. She had been waiting on him at the café for going on fifteen minutes, which in Sirius-time was actually relatively close to on-time. Regulus, however, ran on some bizarro-world clock that dictated he either be precisely on time or half an hour late. Andromeda had long figured he was more or less just bollocks at estimating time, but that was neither here nor there.

"I was busy," Sirius protested. Andromeda could tell he was bracing himself for her inevitable tirade on his inability to contact her, which bolstered her intent to lull him into a false sense of security before beginning said tirade. Sirius sighed and prompted, "So, you said you wanted to talk about the state of the family's inheritance and other more or less boring money-management related things?"

Andromeda did her best not to be annoyed at her cousin. "Yes, Sirius. Narcissa and I—Yes, I still talk to her, Sirius. Don't be an idiot.—decided that you would do best by straightening out who is and who isn't _actually_ disowned before any of the five of us does something unfortunate, like dying."

"I've been filling out the paperwork to reinstate you, but it seems neverending," Sirius weakly defended himself. Andromeda waited for him to catch what she had actually said. After a moment, he seemed to understand. "Oh. Why would you be expecting one of us to die soon? Bellatrix, of course, can be disowned posthumously, and I'm sure the heir to the fortune should I die would set things straight. You and Narcissa I assume are going to outlive us all, so what are you thinking could go wrong?"

Andromeda supposed Sirius was attempting to be subtle, but she had her doubts. Just to make sure he had actually received her message, Andromeda replied, "Accidents happen, and it is better to be safe than sorry. Besides, who knows what Rudolphus and Rabastan might do."

Sirius narrowed his eyes and repeated, "Rudolphus? What do you think he's up to?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Andromeda explained, "Well, Narcissa mentioned to me that Lucius was a bit jumpy over some of the plans at work. After hearing Narcissa's explanation, I understood why she was upset, and I decided I might mention to you that Rudolphus is at the moment a loose cannon. So, you might want to warn the concerned party about this."

Sirius nodded absentmindedly before he mentioned, "You do know we can actually talk openly here, right? I seriously doubt there are any of Lucius's ilk here in a Muggle café."

Andromeda tried not to be annoyed with her cousin before she said, "Fine. You want me to be blunt? I am annoyed at you, I am annoyed at the brat, and I would prefer if in the future Narcissa did not need me to act as a bloody telephone between her and the brat. Furthermore, please communicate that I am annoyed at him for the telephone business and also not saying anything in the past fifteen years. But, then again, what do I expect from the two of you? Clearly, my expectations were far too high."

Sirius cringed and mentioned hopefully, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, he didn't say anything to me, either?" He was not getting out of this that easily.

Andromeda sighed in exasperation. "That isn't the point, but I'll let you off the hook for now," she declared. With the decision to speak in code regardless, she continued, "Look, Rudolphus is suspicious of the returned associate and plans to convince the rest of the board to remove said coworker. Lucius thought nothing of it, but Narcissa worried regardless."

Sirius considered what she said before inquiring, "Narcissa couldn't be overreacting, could she? Yes, I'll communicate the danger, but is it really that bad? You know how she can be prone to exaggeration." Andromeda could hear the worry in his voice. He was scared.

"She's mildly distressed," Andromeda replied. She knew Sirius would get the message. Andromeda was not going to be soft on this subject. With almost no one left from Sirius's old group of friends, the brunt of any grief would likely fall on her and Lupin were Rudolphus to actually follow through on killing Regulus. The last time she had described Narcissa as mildly distressed to Sirius, Andromeda had been referring to the time Narcissa had thrown a vase at the wall. "Mildly" had never been even close to covering the emotion.

Sirius looked contemplative and more than a little distressed himself. "Do you know when the bastard's planning this?" he asked, tense.

"Narcissa wasn't sure. Sometime soon, though, potentially the next time there is a meeting," Andromeda reported. Hesitant to pass on the rest of the information, she continued softly, "And you may want to know that Bellatrix is aware of your brother's continuing existence." After a pause, she mentioned, "From what I can tell, you may not want to tell him about Bella. He nearly had a nervous breakdown when I was treating him when he last visited the hospital. She did something awful to him, Sirius, and if you can convince him to avoid the Death Eaters without bringing her into the conversation, he'd be better off."

"I gathered as much from when I spoke to him earlier today," Sirius admitted quietly. After a moment, he asked, "Did you know that he smokes? I mean, how the hell did I miss that?"

Andromeda remained silent for a moment before she began, "He didn't want you to worry." She knew she shouldn't go into the whole story, but Sirius deserved something. With a grimace, Andromeda continued, "I only ever saw him smoke when he was came over to look after Nymphadora. He never smoked around her; I'd have had his head for that. He would sometimes stay for a while afterwards to talk to me, and usually, he would light himself a cigarette if we strayed too close to how he was really doing. He was always a bit shaky when he talked about that, but I didn't really expect anything less. Bellatrix hurt him deeply, Sirius. I don't know what she did, just that he was perpetually scared of what she might do."

Sirius stared long and hard at the table. "You'll forgive me, right?" he asked, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "If I killed her?"

Andromeda shook her head and said, "You already know my answer, Sirius." With a sigh, she reminded him, "You wouldn't be able to kill her. If you couldn't kill Pettigrew, I doubt you would be able to kill Bellatrix, even if she does deserve it."

"She more than deserves it," Sirius growled, staring Andromeda straight in the eyes. "He can barely talk about her without breaking down."

Andromeda sighed and murmured, "Sirius, you can't fight this war for him." Sirius was about to protest, and Andromeda cut him off, saying, "Hear me out. He already is trying to deal with whatever she's done. He doesn't need you coming in and trying to act the hero. He has to process what happened to him on his own. If he needs your help, he'll ask, but I promise you that killing Bellatrix won't help him. Not the way you think it will."

"But—" Sirius began to protest.

Andromeda shook her head. "Sirius, his problems aren't going to disappear if you kill Bellatrix," she asserted. "Whatever happened to him affected him enough that fifteen years later, he's still taking antidepressants because of it."

Sirius snorted and snapped, "It's not like we're all a bit broken in the head. For all you know it might just be genetics catching up with him."

With another sigh, Andromeda patiently explained to her cousin, "Just because you and your brother are predisposed to mental illness doesn't mean it must be the reason you're both in such bad shape now. He dodged the genetic bullet, unlike you. So is it really so hard to imagine that Regulus is ill for a different reason? That you both have post-traumatic stress?" Sirius looked like he was going to sink further into denial, so Andromeda reassured him, "You couldn't have stopped what had happened to him, Sirius. _It_ _was not your fault_." She wasn't sure she was in the mood for reassuring him of that statement completely.

Sirius shook his head and protested, "Yes, it was. If I hadn't joined the Aurors…"

Andromeda let her cousin trail off. She wondered who had been feeding Sirius that bullshit. If Sirius hadn't joined the Aurors, Bellatrix might not have gone after Regulus, but that would have been because she would have been trying to convince Sirius to follow her instead. Of course, there were still problems with arguing that, because Sirius would still see it as him being at fault. Andromeda was getting too old for this nonsense. Patiently, Andromeda said, "Sirius, you need to stop blaming yourself. That behavior won't help anyone, least of all Regulus. Furthermore, dwelling on when and how Bellatrix will receive her just rewards doesn't help, either… You're a good man, Sirius. You better damn well stay that way."

Sirius seemed a mixture of chastened and embarrassed after Andromeda finished. She didn't doubt that he had not expected her to declare him a decent person regardless of his general propensity towards bloody vengeance, much less that she would do it in the same breath as admitting her sister should burn in hellfire for the rest of eternity. Clearly feeling out of sorts, Sirius said, "I should probably go." He stammered, "I'll—I'll look out for Lestrange, but—I'm sorry, Andy. I can't just let Bellatrix—"

"Sirius, I wasn't suggesting anything of that sort. For God's sake, keep your brother away from her, but don't go looking to get yourself killed trying to make her pay for what she's done," Andromeda corrected softly. "And I don't mind. I'm sure you and Reggie have a lot to talk about. Just take care of yourself, would you?"

Sirius nodded mutely. He paused before he said, "Thank you, Andromeda. For listening, and, really, for dealing with all the shit the rest of us put you through. We don't deserve it."

Andromeda smiled and said, "Get going. And send your brother my regards."

"Will do," Sirius replied sanguinely as he collected his jacket and departed.

_Well_, Andromeda thought to herself, _that went better than expected._

* * *

Regulus awoke with a massive headache to the smell of Chinese food. Judging by the fact a glass of water was immediately shoved in his face, he figured Artemesia had already regaled his brother with the tale of his earlier adventures in purging his stomach content. Regulus felt like making no move to do anything with the glass, but he did not want to imagine how Sirius would react to that. Gingerly sitting up from his position sprawled on the couch, Regulus took the glass.

"Still feeling awful?" Sirius inquired, now diverting his attention from whatever was on the television to his brother. "You look it. I wasn't sure if you'd be up to eating Chinese, so I got you that soup you like and some lo mein. I'll take the latter off your hands if you don't want it."

"How gracious of you," Regulus commented, now finished with the glass of water and wishing the sink wasn't so far away. He hated himself for feeling so awful that he couldn't be bothered to walk into the kitchen and refill the glass himself.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Sirius blithely commented. He also magically produced a pitcher of water and refilled the now empty glass Regulus had set on the coffee table. After a moment, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it? How you found the locket?" Sirius seemed to think better of what he said and rephrased, "Actually, do you mind talking about it? I wouldn't have asked, but Kreacher seemed overly paranoid in regards to it, even for him."

Regulus froze. He did not want to discuss it, but he couldn't deny Sirius an explanation for what had happened. An edited explanation would have to do. A _severely_ edited explanation. Regulus hugged his knees to his chest and began slowly, "Voldemort needed a house elf. I was already under suspicion, so I volunteered Kreacher. I didn't expect Voldemort to leave him to die, and when I heard what he had done, I knew I had to do something."

Sirius was likely watching him patiently. Regulus wasn't positive, but that was because he was doing his best to stare at the end of the couch so he wouldn't have to watch his brother's reactions. "Was that when you switched sides?" Sirius asked quietly.

Regulus looked up at that, surprised, and quickly corrected, "No. Not at all. I—I'd been working for the joint CIA/DoM taskforce for months, not that I knew it was a joint operation at the time. I did what little I could to help generally, but this was just the only time I actually had a horcrux in close enough reach that I could chance retrieving and destroying it." Regulus fell silent as he remembered what lengths he had gone through to make sure he was thought loyal to the Cause and the line he had refused to cross. Fiddling with his shirt cuff, he glossed, "When I was given the command to kill one of the people in the Order, I flat out ignored the orders and made my—Well, you remember when I showed up at your flat that night. I'd put my affairs in order, and I was going to go retrieve the horcrux two or three days later."

With a shudder, Regulus remembered, "Bellatrix saw me right before I'd been to your flat and told me I better damn well hurry up, so I told her I was well on my way to carry out my orders. She seemed to accept that, and the two days later, I ignored the summons I received from Voldemort to go get that damned locket." Hesitantly, he continued, "The cave wasn't that bad. I hadn't expected the potion I had to drink to be as potent as it was, but it was necessary. When I'd switched out the horcrux, I told Kreacher to leave and never tell anyone what had happened, least of all Mum and Dad." Regulus was unwilling to admit Snape's part in his survival simply because he would have to tell Sirius that Snape had saved him from effectively committing suicide, so he abridged the next events. "After I returned to London, Bella found me," he said, voice breaking at the last three words. "Voldemort ordered my execution, and she carried it out. I only barely survived. A medwizard found me almost immediately. He'd stepped outside for a smoke and found me bleeding to death on the pavement."

Nervously, Regulus pulled the collar of his shirt away from his throat, exposing the ghastly scar. "It didn't really ever heal properly, but…" Regulus trailed off, realizing Sirius probably did not need reminding. Not daring to see how his brother had reacted, Regulus continued painfully, "I never meant for you to get hurt. I really didn't. I don't even—I didn't even know what I was agreeing to. Everything hurt so much, and… They didn't know the patrols had been changed. You and Potter weren't supposed to be anywhere near…" Regulus choked on his next words. He couldn't go on. What he had done—albeit indirectly—to Sirius he had never forgiven himself for. He didn't expect Sirius to, either.

As Regulus tried not to make a fool of himself again today, he started when he felt Sirius's hand on his shoulder. "Reggie, it's all right," Sirius said softly. "You were only a kid, and you'd almost _died_. What happened—it wasn't your fault. I never blamed you for it, and I still don't." Regulus looked up in vague disbelief, continuing to ignore the tears in his eyes, but Sirius apparently saw his little brother's expression as sizing him up like an abused animal expecting to be beaten. Uneasily, Sirius sighed and said, "Reg, you don't have to keep talking. This is—you're clearly really upset, and I don't want to…"

"I'm fine," Regulus declared, flinching when Sirius suddenly removed his hand from Regulus's shoulder, and fixed his gaze steadfastly on the floor. Regulus couldn't decide whether or not to continue, but Sirius seemed to want him to. So, despite his reservations, Regulus continued, "I ended up spending some time here recovering, but I was sent overseas as soon as I was healthy enough to be moved. When I heard about Lily and James… Let's just say I surpassed all previous records in the office for alcohol consumed that night. They thought I was celebrating; can you believe that? They seemed to catch on when I outdid myself the day after, although no one really understood why I gave a damn about you. Figured I'd vaguely known you or it was just a repeat performance of drowning my sorrows about the war. This was when I was still working for the CIA directly, before I returned to university, but I was living with Vesta at that point. She knew the real reason why. So did my superiors, but that didn't stop them from continuing to do nothing, despite what I told them about Pettigrew."

Sirius was watching him again, but Regulus was still avoiding looking at him. "After that, I more or less just accepted I couldn't change anything. My superiors let me go, deciding it was better to pretend I had sought asylum and was under witness protection. I eventually just stopped, and that was that." Or, that was the lie he liked to tell himself.

There was a silence before Sirius murmured, "Who was it?" Regulus stared at him in confusion, and Sirius met his eyes and clarified, "That Voldemort ordered you to kill. Who was it." There was anger in his brother's expression, and Regulus was uncertain if he should answer.

Regulus stammered, "It's not important, Sirius. I couldn't murder someone in cold blood like that." Why did Sirius decide to fixate on that small detail? Why couldn't he have picked a topic Regulus could have dismissed out of hand, like Bellatrix's actions or any of the parts of his story that weren't consistent or he had clearly left out?

"It is important, Regulus. Who was it?" Sirius demanded.

"It doesn't matter. I told you already: it doesn't matter who they ordered me to kill! I couldn't have done it, even if they'd told me to kill Pettigrew!" Regulus protested.

"Jesus Christ, it was James, wasn't it? You fucking—God dammit, Regulus, you could have bloody said something. You do realize I would have helped you, right? I'd have made sure you'd gotten that stupid horcrux and then left the country," Sirius began. "Why the hell—"

Regulus couldn't take it anymore and quietly cried, "No, you idiot! I was supposed to kill _you_!" Regulus hugged his legs to his chest and hid his face behind his arms. He shouldn't have started talking again. Oh, God, he'd probably angered Sirius enough to make him storm out. Regulus couldn't even stop himself from breaking down this time. "I was supposed to kill you…" he brokenly cried, unable to stop himself from sobbing. He wasn't even really crying because of what he had just admitted. Maybe it was because Sirius felt there had to be a reason for Regulus refusing to kill someone. Maybe it was because Sirius automatically assumed that Potter had something to do with it. Then again, maybe it was because Regulus was terrified of what Sirius would actually think if he had told the whole story or because it seemed Sirius would have helped him back then with no questions asked and no answers needed. He could have asked for the help he had known he really did need and actually been given it, not because he could trade information for it but because _he_ was the one asking. Him.

Sirius was next to him again, arm around his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Regulus didn't really know or care what his brother was saying. His brother didn't hate him. That was all he could think about.

As he managed to bring himself back under control, Regulus heard Sirius murmur, "You really need to stop keeping all this locked up, Reggie." Sighing, Sirius continued, "I shouldn't have lost my temper about that. You were doing what you thought best, but I just wish I could have stopped what happened to you. I know you don't want to talk about what happened, but… God, I feel so fucking guilty. You shouldn't have had to go through any of that. I should have confronted Bellatrix or Mum and Dad the first time that psychopath tried to drag you down with her. Not even Mum's crazy side would have stood for Bellatrix coercing you into that."

All of a sudden, Regulus wanted to tell Sirius the truth. The whole truth, what he hadn't said. What he'd told almost no one. But he couldn't form the words, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't tell Sirius, not now. He couldn't risk losing his brother again today, so he stayed silent, shaking uncontrollably against his elder brother.

"Hey, Reg, you should probably eat something," Sirius suggested gently. "It's been a rough day, and I did in fact hear about your excursion to pray to the porcelain god." Regulus didn't reply immediately, so Sirius continued, "Andy sends her love, by the by. In her way, in any case. She seems pretty worried about you. So's Narcissa, but I'm sure you knew that."

Regulus glanced over at his brother before softly inquiring, "What did she want to tell you?" Sirius pretended to be confused, but Regulus could see right through him. "Andy wouldn't have insisted on meeting you in a neutral area if she had good news, Sirius. I'm not stupid."

Sirius was definitely hesitant to divulge the contents of said conversation, but he answered bluntly, "Rudolphus is going to try to kill you. Narcissa probably coerced Andy into telling me to try and stop you from showing up at another Death Eater meeting, but you and I both know how useless it is for me to try and talk you out of it."

Regulus snorted and growled, "The self-serving bastard probably thinks Voldemort will go medieval on them when he finds out how thoroughly I fucked him over."

Sirius stared at him with an indecipherable look on his face before he replied, "Reg, it's healthy and all to loathe and despise the man who wants to murder you, but you don't usually behave like this." Sirius looked uneasy before he surmised, "He's helped Bellatrix, hasn't he?"

Regulus knew the look on his face was ugly, but he didn't care. "More like threw me to the wolves," he hissed. Sirius stayed quiet, but Regulus was not going to elaborate this time.

The venom in Regulus' voice gave Sirius pause for only a while longer than normal. He finally said, "Why don't we stop talking about this and relax? I mean, dinner's getting cold, and this clearly isn't a great topic of conversation."

Involuntarily, Regulus almost protested, but he checked himself in time. He _was_ hungry, and he _didn't_ want to discuss his experiences with the Death Eaters. Mutely, Regulus nodded and picked up his carton of soup. He knew he would calm down once he stopped obsessing over Bellatrix and her minions.

Deciding to be more contrary than normal, Sirius nicked the lo mein he had ordered for Regulus (as promised, but the principle of the thing was what mattered). After a couple minutes of eating in silence, Sirius asked, "So why is this MTV station on? It doesn't seem to be that interesting. All they play are music videos."

Regulus glared at his brother, well aware Sirius was just joking. "Leave me alone. You run around forests on full moons with your friends, and I watch MTV, which I've done since I was nineteen, mind you. I'm not the weird one here," he commented blithely.

"Did you just compare watching television to running around the Forbidden Forest with a werewolf?" Sirius asked, a bit stupefied.

Regulus at least recognized his argument made no sense and replied a bit inanely, "Possibly." He resumed eating his dinner, and Sirius started channel-surfing. "You didn't even stop to see what was on!" Regulus protested after the fifth time Sirius changed the channel because there was an advertisement.

Sirius stared at Regulus and said, "This is what you get annoyed about? Out of everything that happened today? You're fucking weird, Reg."

Regulus rolled his eyes before he pounced for the remote, making Sirius squawk in surprise, sending noodles flying everywhere.

Artemesia was unfortunate enough to enter the room at that point. She took one look at the scene and declared, "I don't even want to know," before shutting the door behind her.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Harry has theories, and others have spaz attacks.  
_


	53. Come As You Are

In the dark cavern, a lone figure approached the island in the center of the underground lake. The basin on the center of the island glowed with an otherworldly green light. The figure approached the basin and considered its contents. With a growl, the man summoned one of the dead from the lake and had the corpse drain the basin. Then, the man withdrew the locket, and his face twisted in rage. He tore open the locket to find a piece of paper and not the emptiness he had expected.

Furious, the man—if you could really call the creature that—began to read: _I know I will be dead long before you read this…_

* * *

"You know, I had the weirdest dream last night," Harry began, and Hermione considered the ramifications of tuning him out yet again. Ron had raised his eyebrow, which prompted Harry to continue, "I think I saw Voldemort rummaging around some cave, and then he got really pissed off and started killing zombies. Hence why it was a weird dream and not a nightmare, although my scar does still kind of hurt."

Ron looked confused and asked, "What's a zombie?"

Harry blinked in confusion over his friend's ignorance, and Hermione put both of them out of their misery and explained, "A reanimated corpse that hungers for the flesh of the living, more likely than not shambles along rather than walks at a brisk pace, fond of brains, etc."

"Oh, Inferi!" Ron summarized. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

"What's an Inferi?" Harry asked in turn.

"A zombie," Hermione stated, cutting off the potential endless regression loop Harry and Ron could have put themselves into. "And it would be an Inferius. Inferi is plural, I imagine."

"Right. It's pseudo-Latin. Got it," Harry said, probably about to completely ignore everything Hermione had just said. "Anyway, do you suppose I should tell Dumbledore? Or Sirius? I mean, if I have this connection to Voldemort in my brain, shouldn't I make use of it? I mean, Voldemort was really annoyed that someone had switched a tacky locket for another tacky locket, even if the non-important one had a signed note explaining the switch. Speaking of, what sort of idiot signs a letter basically telling Voldemort to go screw himself? That's just asking to be killed in a gruesome, painful, and drawn-out way."

Hermione and Ron had both listened intently to Harry's continuing commentary of his dreams, but Hermione was definitely starting to believe that Harry might be on to something. "So Voldemort was angry that the locket (or whatever it was) was not the item he was looking for? How angry?" Hermione inquired. Assuming Harry hadn't simply had a nightmare, Hermione considered it prudent to possibly tell someone about his mind-link, especially if Voldemort felt strongly about the action in question.

" 'Hulk smash!' angry," Harry clarified. "As I said, I pity the fool who signed the note. He must have had something wrong with him the day he made that decision, because I cannot think of anything more harebrained than that."

Ron looked surprised and amazed at that statement, and Hermione decided she needed to find less dramatic friends. "So you are saying that Voldemort was suitably enraged?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, so she continued, "That means you likely saw something he didn't want you to see, because he probably wouldn't want any of us to know he was betrayed."

Harry was about to reply, but his expression changed to a pensive one. After a moment, he said, "You don't think this has anything to do with that thing you think I'm completely and totally wrong about, do you?"

Ron looked interested and turned to Hermione. "What's this? I haven't heard about Harry's new pet theory. I thought we didn't have a potential conspiracy this year," he said.

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's really not worth mentioning," she warned him. "I honestly think Harry's rationalizations for Sirius to be out of contact have gone a bit too far."

"It's not as crazy as Ron's theory that Sirius and Professor Vector are dating," Harry protested. "_That_ theory is mad. I mean, they're not even compatible personality-wise."

"And yet you think Gemma's uncle is Sirius's brother, who has been dead for how long?" Hermione pointed out. She barely gave Harry time to reply before she continued, "See? Even you think it's a bit mad when you think about it rationally."

Ron had yet to say anything on the subject of Sirius and Professor Vector. Hermione was glad of that, to be honest. She was in agreement with him by this point. Hell, last week she had even seen Sirius drop by Professor Vector's office (to Hermione's credit, office hours were still technically in effect, so she wasn't spying). But Harry was clearly imagining things. However, Ron surprised both Harry and Hermione by mentioning, "That would actually explain some things. I mean, Ginny's pretty good friends with Luna and with Gemma to a point, but from what I've heard, Luna's of the same opinion. And wasn't Gemma's uncle that guy Sirius chased around the castle? I mean, if he was, then the two of them definitely look enough alike to be brothers. Though, didn't Harry mention Sirius said his brother was a Death Eater?"

"I think he got better. Sirius is talking to him again, so I assume they patched things up and he isn't one anymore," Harry explained in support of his theory.

Ron seemed pensive for a moment before he began to reason, "So if Sirius's brother is that one guy, and he's a good guy now, but wasn't then, and goes under a different name, doesn't that mean he's probably doing something to help the war effort? Or at least that the Death Eaters are really pissed off at him?"

Hermione decided to follow Ron's line of logic and said, "That would make sense. Assuming Harry's right, then there's probably something going on. Mr. Black would likely be in roughly the same situation as Professor Snape, except potentially with a price on his head."

"Which means he had to have done something to _really_ piss off Voldemort," Ron continued.

Harry blinked owlishly and then mentioned, "The initials on the letter were RAB."

Hermione turned to stare at Harry. He could have mentioned that at the beginning. Granted, this guesswork was so tenuous, any number of minutiae could bring it all crashing to the ground. "Harry, Sirius's brother's first name starts with an 'R', doesn't it?" Hermione asked, hoping to high heaven her friend would be disproven soon. Otherwise, she knew they had stumbled upon information she knew they should probably not know.

"Yeah. I dunno what his middle initial is, though Sirius's apparently spell out SOB, which is endlessly amusing," Harry informed them, reminding Hermione she was indeed in the presence of teenage boys.

"Ha! They do, don't they!" Ron commented, also amused.

The three of them were silent for a moment before Harry mentioned, "I should go tell Dumbledore about what I saw, shouldn't I?"

"You might want to leave out the conspiracy theory," Hermione suggested somewhat ineffectively. She wasn't sure if he should or not at this point. The concept was starting to make too much sense for Hermione's tastes. That needed to stop. She needed proof to the contrary, and she needed it now.

Ron looked uncertain and said, "I think you might want to suggest it, but not mention how you came to the conclusion. I dunno how you decided Gemma's uncle is Sirius's brother, but just in case Dumbledore knows what's actually going on, you don't want to sound like the whole idea is crazy. Not that I really think you're wrong. It makes too much sense. I mean, we haven't really seen the two of them together at all, but when he dropped by around Christmas, the two of them were seriously awkward around one another."

Harry looked confused. "What?" he asked. "When did that happen?"

"The day before we went back to school. Sirius left early that morning with Mr. White—Merlin, that is a terrible pseudonym," Ron realized, as if the thought was only now occurring to him. This was partially the reason Hermione had thought Harry had to be wrong. There was no way anyone could be careless enough to choose an alias that was their real last name's antonym. "In any case, you weren't up yet, but I woke up early because of the twins, and I saw the two of them having tea in the kitchen before they left. Sirius looked a bit upset about something, and Mr. White looked bizarrely nervous, but I hadn't thought anything of it at the time, 'cause, you know, most people are a bit wary of hanging out around Sirius because of the Azkaban thing."

Harry seemed to latch onto this information as supporting the theory and declared, "See, Hermione? More proof!"

Hermione stared at him dispassionately before countering his declaration with, "Oh, look, Gemma is a female version of your godfather. Point for Ron and my idea about Professor Vector." Harry looked unimpressed. "Also, I saw Sirius pick her up the other day for a date."

"They're just friends!" Harry insisted, clearly determined to ignore the truth. "And you're have to be seeing things. I mean, Gemma's two years younger than us. She can't be Sirius's kid, and I don't understand why the two of you think about a _teacher_ and my _godfather_ having sex."

Hermione immediately thought of purple elephants to prevent any mental scarring. Ron clearly wasn't so lucky, but he had witnessed some intense snogging (apparently) and already had a partial mental image. "Could we _please _drop the subject?" Ron consequently begged.

"Yes," Hermione said, throwing him a bone. Besides, none of them really wanted to think about any of that, and Hermione really had no idea how her favorite teacher could have a thing for her best friend's godfather, who was unfortunately a bit of a screw-up if a genuinely good person. "We were talking about your dream, Harry, and how you should tell Dumbledore." Well, Hermione had been around when Harry was looking through photos of his parents and their friends, and Hermione did have to admit Sirius had been good-looking. Like, _really_ good-looking. But then again, so had some of Harry's mom's guy friends (but emphatically not Professor Snape), so Hermione continued to question Professor Vector's taste in men.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Gemma could only see red. She knew she shouldn't be this angry, but she couldn't help herself. Macha had finally stepped over the line Gemma had drawn in the sand (granted, Macha wasn't aware the line existed, but that was beside the point).

Leo was trailing after her, desperately trying to diffuse the situation. "Gemma, please, she didn't mean it," he protested, glancing about for anyone who could back him up. There was no one, clearly. Macha was in the wrong here. "She really doesn't mean any of it. You know that!"

Gemma stopped and whipped around angrily. "It would have been one thing had she just called me a bastard and been done with it, Leo, and you know it," she reminded him. "But to say what she did about your dad… It's unforgivable."

"She's just lashing out, Gemma! She doesn't mean it!" Leo protested. Gemma knew what had been unsaid: he didn't want her to mean it. "You don't need to take Dad's side on this just because you have some stupid sense of moral superiority! You haven't even looked at this from Macha's point of view!"

"Uncle Terry would never have been a Death Eater!" Gemma shouted. "Not for real! And not like that!" How her cousin could think something like that about her dad was incomprehensible to Gemma. Regardless of whatever Uncle Terry had done in the past, he could never have been the heartless bastard Macha was insisting he was. The past decade and change could not all just be an act; Gemma's uncle couldn't lie his way out of a soggy paper bag.

Leo swallowed nervously and paused. That gave Gemma enough time to do an about-face and return on her warpath. Leo caught up after a few seconds and clarified, "I just don't think she actually believes this, Gemma. I mean, Dad should've explained to Macha about the past before she found out what she did."

Gemma rolled her eyes. "And what did she find out? That Uncle Terry used to be a spy?" she hissed so no one else could hear. "Yes, that's a completely legitimate reason for her to go darkside on us," she declared sarcastically. " 'Poor me. My dad's a hero.' "

Leo shook his head and started to retort, finally angry, "That's not it at all, Gemma, and you know it! Because you're out of the loop, too! Dad _was_ a Death Eater! He didn't join as a spy! He believed in some of the rhetoric! Dad just realized he was wrong! Partially because of Mom, and partially because of—" Leo stopped abruptly.

Gemma glanced back at her cousin and said, "I don't believe you. He would never do that. Your dad's one of the good guys. Why would he do something evil?"

Leo stopped chasing after his cousin and muttered, "The world isn't black and white."

Gemma ignored him, and after another ten minutes of storming through the halls, looking for Macha, she finally found said idiot. Macha was sitting in a corner of the library, dressed completely in black and Slytherin colors despite the fact it was the weekend. Her minion Smith looked nervous as usual as he talked to her. Gemma wondered why such a weak-minded jellyfish of a boy would end up in Slytherin; he was supposed to be cunning, not a doormat. There were a couple older Slytherins sitting at the same table. A few of them were in Gemma's year, and there was one definitely a year above her also at the table. That she was outnumbered didn't matter. This was an issue to be resolved within the family. At least the Slytherins would respect that. Wasn't blood what they worshipped, after all?

Fuming, Gemma was about to explode in Macha's face, but her rat of a cousin beat her to it. "What do you want, oh dearest cousin?" she asked disinterestedly. Macha didn't even look up from her book. Smith looked even more worried than he had previously. "I thought we already decided you were a close-minded fool of a blood-traitor."

Gemma growled, "No, we decided you were turning into a racist bitch. How can you stand any of it? You hate Malfoy's guts, and now you want to be his best friend? All because you think Uncle Terry's like Mr. Malfoy, who by the way is an absolute skeez?" She sneered and declared, "You're pathetic."

Macha stood and shot back, "No. I know the truth; my father is a useless waste of space at best. He's an oathbreaker and a blood traitor or the best actor to ever live, and either way, I know I'm making the right decision."

"You're wrong!" Gemma exclaimed, trying to keep the words Leo had said out of her mind. She was right; Macha was wrong. That was all there was to it. Leo was the one stuck in the middle and confused. He didn't know up from down right now. Macha had made her choice, and she had chosen poorly. "He's a good man, and you know it! He may be what pureblood purists consider a blood traitor, but who gives a damn? So's Mr. Black! And breaking an oath that shouldn't have been made in the first place is just, not something to be ashamed of!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Macha shouted back. She was being unreasonable. Gemma was giving perfectly good reasons for Macha to back off her crazy newly-adopted views, but none of the facts seemed to get through to her. "He betrayed his family!"

"Maybe they needed to be betrayed," Gemma retorted. She was fairly certain her uncle's family had died in a car accident, so the statement Macha had made was confusing. Maybe it was a different part of the family that Uncle Terry had betrayed. It didn't matter. Gemma believed that whatever had happened had to have been for a good reason.

Macha laughed sharply. "You just don't get it, do you?" she demanded. There was a bit of a crowd gathering around them. Gemma was secretly thankful that it was a diverse group of students instead of a mass of Slytherins. She may be a Gryffindor, but she was nowhere near suicidal. "He swore an oath to one side of the war, broke it, and betrayed everyone he supposedly cared about. What sort of person does that?"

"I wouldn't say he betrayed everyone he cared about," an adult said reasonably.

Gemma turned toward the voice to see Mr. Black standing just outside the circle of students with an incredibly worried Leo standing next to him. Her face drained of blood. How much had he heard? He had been the one that said Uncle Terry was a good person, but how much of the past did he really know? What if Mr. Black did a complete 180° about Uncle Terry?

The crowd of students scattered as Mr. Black walked over to where Gemma and Macha were. "Your brother, Miss White, was kind enough to warn your aunt that Gemma was on the warpath. Unfortunately, she was otherwise engaged, so I volunteered to help work this out," Mr. Black explained. There were still a bit of an audience, and so Mr. Black mentioned, "I may not be a professor here anymore, but I'm sure Ms. Pince would not be pleased to know her library is now the site of a soap opera." When no one moved, he elucidated, "Scram," and the remainder of the crowd diffused away. Smith couldn't run away fast enough. Macha didn't seem to notice, since she was glaring at Mr. Black with a somewhat disturbing intensity.

"Um," Leo started. "I'm going to go, too." He ran off to the other end of the library. Mr. Black didn't seem too surprised about Leo's behavior. Gemma thought it was a classic Uncle Terry move, but there was no reason for Mr. Black to think it was normal.

"What do you know?" Macha demanded acidly as Mr. Black corralled her and Gemma into a less public area of the library to get the two of them to talk reasonably. At least, that was what Gemma assumed. Leo had probably impressed his views on the issues upon Mr. Black before Gemma or Macha could make their arguments.

"That your father's worried sick about you not talking to him," Mr. Black replied archly, giving Macha a run for her money in iciness. "That your mother asked your aunt to interrogate your brother in order to figure out what was going on. Oh, also that your father didn't betray anyone in the war that didn't deserve it. He should be the one to explain to you—both of you, really—why he doesn't talk much about what he did in the last war, but damn the explanation about the current one. He hates Voldemort, and he hates the Death Eaters. It's not because of what happened last time. It's because he hates what they believe in. Sure, he was naïve as a kid, but keep in mind that he grew up with Bellatrix Lestrange. Anyone related to her is fucked-up, myself included." And Gemma was confused. Did that mean that Uncle Terry was related to Mr. Black? How closely? And why was Macha looking less angry and more frustrated?

Gemma was about to ask a question along those lines when Mr. Black suddenly said, "Gemma, could you go find your mother? I think she needs to have a talk with your cousin." Surprised, Gemma nodded and rushed off. She wasn't sure why she was so glad to get out of the library, but for some reason, she couldn't help but feel relieved that she had been allowed to escape that conversation. Macha deserved whatever scolding she would get.

* * *

Sirius could tell that Macha didn't believe a word he was saying. She likely had guessed the reason he had sent Gemma away was to talk to her more privately and actually explain his brother's actions to her. That, or she was a simmering ball of rage and was giving Regulus far more credit than he deserved in the diabolical schemes category. His idea of a diabolical scheme had been convincing Kreacher to sneak him and Sirius a second serving of dessert when they were children. Sirius sincerely doubted anything had changed in that regard since then. Revenge plots were another matter, but Regulus was likewise lacking there, hence why he was in such a bind currently. Sirius was starting to remember why he had considered looking after his brother a full-time job. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Speaking of, he really needed to get better.

"Why?" Macha demanded. Sirius hoped she was not going to speak in monosyllables, because his patience did have very distinct limits. "Why defend him?"

Sirius replied plainly, "Because while your father is an idiot, he's still my little brother."

Macha looked only vaguely startled. That meant she had already known. Artemesia's piecemeal theory had been correct. Macha quickly schooled her emotions and then demanded, "Really? That's the only reason?"

Sirius realized he should have phrased his reply better. He backpedaled, "No, of course it isn't." After a pause, Sirius said, "If he believed any of that bullshit, I would have kicked him to the curb ages ago." He was only lying a little, right? It was for a good cause, anyway. Besides, the girl was eleven. How the hell could he explain to her that he would never have just abandoned his little brother? Sure, back in the day, he and Regulus had occasionally had shouting matches around the school based on their conflicting rhetoric, but at the end of the day, Reg still treated all his classmates with equal respect, while Sirius had been the equal opportunity offender. "Macha, your father loves you and your brother more than anything in the universe, except maybe your mum. You do know that, right?" Sirius asked sincerely. Anyone could see that. Also, trying a different tact was probably the best way to go about calming the girl down.

Macha stayed silent. Sirius started to realize he had no idea how to deal with this girl. Apparently his nephew was the one that took after his brother; that kid couldn't wait to get the hell away. "How do you know that? It's not like you really know him, anyway," Macha said, clearly daring Sirius to contradict her. He could work with that.

Although, Sirius could see why the kid thought that: he and Regulus hadn't spoken to each other for a decade and a half. There wasn't much reason for her to think that Sirius would have really made an effort to become reacquainted with his brother. However, that thinking rested on the assumptions that the two of them parted on far worse terms than they did and that they still weren't really talking to each other. "I knew him then, young lady, and as far as I can tell, he's not changed to the point you're suggesting," Sirius explained.

Macha returned to giving him the silent treatment. After a while, she demanded in a non sequitur, "What side of the blood traitor question was he on?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? What?" he asked, confused. What sort of question was that? For Merlin's sake, her mother was a half-blood! She couldn't _actually_ think that Regulus was still even vaguely racist, could she? And then Sirius remembered what her reading material was. Seriously, he replied as convincingly as he could, "By the time I saw him last during the war, your father was against everything Voldemort preached. The only people he ever even considered killing were other Death Eaters but especially Voldemort himself."

"How do you know he was telling the truth?" Macha demanded. "Wasn't he always following Bellatrix Lestrange around? She's one of the worst!"

Sirius resisted the urge to go find Bellatrix and kill her and instead attempted to explain, "You have no idea of the hold she has on your father. He's more or less been terrified of her since she joined the Death Eaters. Bellatrix wasn't always like she is now, but that's around the time she really snapped." Realizing that explanation could be twisted into fitting Macha's quite frankly bizarre delusion, Sirius suggested, "Also, pretend for a moment that you're a teenager stuck in an awful situation, and your cousin happens to be Voldemort's most ardent follower. Being vaguely associated with her would absolve you of doing anything morally bankrupt."

"How do you even know he wasn't?" Macha again demanded, clearly starting to regain her footing mentally. Sirius had no idea how his niece had managed to craft such a complicated explanation for Regulus's behavior. It honest to God boggled the mind.

Sirius was sorely tempted to go drag Regulus here to talk to Macha, regardless of how he didn't want either of his children to know he was ill. Granted, it didn't seem like she would listen to Regulus right now anyway, and her behavior was beginning to grate on Sirius's patience. Unable to keep from sounding frustrated, Sirius retorted, "Because I was an Auror, and at every bloody battle, I ended up cornering your father in an alleyway and ordering him to go home. Which he did. Every. Single. Time." After a brief pause, he added, trying to keep the acid out of his voice, "And don't think he willingly went on missions. He begged off as frequently as he could. That's why Barty Crouch, Jr., ended up associated with Bellatrix. _He_ took your father's place in raids. And as you should know from those books of yours if not from your father, the first time he ignored direct orders, Voldemort had him executed."

Of all things, apparently _that_ stopped the girl in her tracks. Sirius wasn't even sure he wanted to know how she had managed to make that one thing the pivot of her mental argument. "What?" she asked in a small voice. "What do you mean?"

Sirius was stunned. How in the hell had she missed that? There was an entire chapter filled with bloody description in that book she was reading. (Again, Sirius restrained himself from hunting Bellatrix down and killing her.) "Reg—what—how do your parents explain what happened to your father?" Sirius asked, a creeping suspicion rearing its ugly head.

"He—he said he was in a car accident," Macha said with a small voice. She had clearly not put together the fact that her father was the one that had been supposedly executed for (apparently) refusing to kill his brother.

Sirius realized at this point that he should not have interfered in the argument between Gemma and Macha. It had been a grade-A bad idea. Back in the day, James would have said Sirius deserved yet another Insensitivity Medal. No. Bad Sirius. No thinking about James. There were more important things going on. Like how he was an awful adult and had likely just made his niece cry. How lovely. "Well, he may have been," Sirius said, hoping she would ignore everything he had just said. Besides, this nonsense was better handled by, oh, maybe her parents? "Look, maybe—" Sirius thankfully cut himself off before he implied that Regulus had instead faked suicide, because later conversations would out the fact that her father had actually attempted suicide. (Sirius wondered if he kept telling himself he wasn't angry about that he would stop feeling so betrayed. The guilt he could live with, though.) Regulus had tried to gloss over that particular detail, but Sirius had actually picked up on his meaning. "Maybe he didn't say anything about this because he and your mother wanted to protect you. Hell, I was about twice your age at the time, and I couldn't deal with what happened to him in the slightest."

Before Macha could reply, a student rushed into the library and shouted, "Hey, there's a swamp in the hallway! And an alligator ate my textbook!" Sirius glanced in the direction of the voice, and when he looked back to see if Macha was going to take longer to reply, he discovered she was gone.

She was more like Regulus than he had thought.

And there really was a swamp in the hallway. Huh.

* * *

Luna was sitting with Gemma on a set of stairs, watching the festivities. Everyone had expected this celebration later in the year, but with the added strain of Umbridge, the Weasley twins had decided to quit the school earlier than expected. Luna was particularly fond of the Umbridge-seeking fireworks. The Pink One had a full pack following her around. The rest of the fireworks were just going off randomly outside the castle. They were very pretty, especially the dragon one that keep circling the Lake. The swamps were providing quite literally hours of amusement. Luna and Gemma were in fact watching one of them from their perch. As far as Luna could tell, it had nothing to do with the fact that they were trapped on the wrong side of said swamp.

"We could try to make a bridge out of first years?" Gemma suggested half-heartedly. She was joking, not that Luna really minded either way. A bridge at this juncture would not be very useful. Also, Luna found it interesting that Gemma had not noticed that the joke they were hit with did not change her in the slightest. Luna, on the other hand, was currently in pigtails, a miniskirt, and red thigh-high boots. The Ravenclaw found it telling that she was currently attired as a princess with many friends and yet Gemma stayed the same. So, either the joke product altered reality and did not affect her, or her reality was the same as the altered one. Luna figured it was the latter. Gemma seemed to be unaware of reality, in any case.

"I suggest we teleport," Luna said. "There must be a Starfleet officer in this sector."

"Luna, I highly doubt anyone else that was hit with the Dream Bubbles wanted to be a character from Star Trek," Gemma replied despondently.

"We could always go beg for sanctuary in the Hufflepuff common room?" Luna suggested. She should be easy on Gemma today. After all, she and the war goddess had another of their blowouts. Luna found the entire argument to be flawed, but thankfully the Dog Star was talking to said spawn of the Amazing Bolting Leopard (Harry shared Luna's opinion of the Amazing Bolting Leopard, which exponentially increased her faith in the universe). Unfortunately, there had been a resurgence of monotremes, but Luna had yet to meet the Kangaroo. "By the by, avoiding the swamps twice as much as usual would be advised. I've heard anacondas do not like cats or dogs."

Gemma turned to her friend and stated, "You're not talking about our problem, anymore, are you Luna?" With a sigh, she admitted, "I'm sorry I'm not really in the mood to talk about things, but Macha's really been upsetting me. I don't know why, but she thinks Uncle Terry did some really horrible stuff in the last war. I just can't believe that."

What Gemma meant was that she could not let herself believe that for her mental health. The argument was moot, regardless, seeing as dogs tended to chase cats into alleyways. It was both a virtue and a failing of a dog. "He is too bright a star to have done much ill," Luna reassured her friend. The Greasy Dungeon-Dwelling Chemist had a surprisingly bright aura for his word and actions, but the main point was that both he and Gemma's uncle were on the bright side of life. "Also, you might see light where there is shadow, but it is far better than seeing shadow where there is light. You may make bad mistakes that way, but you keep hope."

Gemma stared at the Ravenclaw girl and said, "You see the good in people, too, Luna. Otherwise you wouldn't be kitted out in a sailor uniform. You've an imagination, too. Me? I can't even have a proper dream. I just stay the same: boring and argumentative. I wish I could have convinced Macha she was imagining things about Uncle Terry. She can't really think the Death Eaters are right, can she?"

Luna considered snakes, reindeer, and mongeese. Mongeese were firmly neutral, which lions and tigers and princesses disapproved of greatly. The reindeer were prejudiced, but a buck knew it couldn't fly. And the anacondas and pythons would crush any that stood in its way. The platypus might take one down with its poison, and the kangaroo could out-hop them, but not all firebirds could do the same. "I think the war goddess sides with the ferret because she is afraid that the lion lost its heart, when in fact Leander chose to drown instead of obey the call to war," Luna mused. "Even Ares fled once at Troy, so why not Macha? Any port is safe in a storm."

"Why would Macha even think—and I completely lost you in the middle there so I'm assuming—Uncle Terry would have ever believed in the Death Eaters?" Gemma wondered. "He gets on best with Aunt Vesta's dad out of all my uncles, and he can't stand Grandma's old fashioned-ness. The only thing I can think of is that she read something in her books that made her think that Uncle Terry did something really bad. Like, Macha was talking about this blood traitor thing, where some of the Death Eaters were for actively killing purebloods sympathetic to Muggleborns or something like that, but Uncle Terry's a halfblood!"

Luna chose not to open the can of worms. It was a spatial-temporal portal that would unleash Shai-Hulud. Luna, understandably, wanted to avoid it. "Possibly the war goddess believes that the lion-heart was just a snake with a sliver tongue? A Loki to Thor instead of a Lancelot to Gawain?" Luna suggested to soften the possibility. "Although, Lancelot betrayed Arthur because of forbidden love, and there is nothing wrong or forbidden in seeking solace from the goddess of the hearth, so maybe instead I should say a Zorro to the Lone Ranger."

Gemma laughed dispiritedly and repeated, "Zorro? Really? Uncle Terry's Zorro?" After a tic of the clock, Gemma asked, "Wait, who's the Lone Ranger?"

"A law-keeper who forsook his name and fights for justice with no need of reward," Luna replied honestly. "Also an ex-Texas Ranger with a horse named Silver and a best-friend who does all his thinking for him." The Werewolf of London fit the role of Tanto very well, although Luna would have to reconsider her translation of "kemosabe" as "dumbass white-man" in that particular case. As to the other question, Luna explained, "The comparison made itself. Besides, I cannot always use the Trinity to describe the cat, the dog, and the kangaroo."

"Please tell me you're talking about the Detective Comics trinity and not the one with the Holy Ghost," Gemma implored her friend, but she needed not have bothered. Luna meant the former. Unless one viewed it through the lens of traditional American baked goods.

"This is an episode of Scooby Doo," Luna reassured her yet again. "And cunning use of flags does not seem to work for the Trinity."

Gemma stared at Luna like the girl dressed as the future queen of the Earth made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Luna had to admit that her last comment was a bit of a stretch, but that was why she mentioned the cunning use of flags. A Themysciran princess, a rich boy with anger management issues, and a hapless reporter usually didn't stand for injustice. Neither did the Witch of Endor nor Mercutio nor Höður, either. "I'm going to pretend I understood what you said, Luna," Gemma declared. "If I'm wrong, tell me, because I'm fairly certain you meant the former and not the latter."

"It's a fair cop," Luna agreed.

"Why are the two of you sitting around on the stairs?" the Dog Star inquired. He was covered in what appeared to be Dagobah and did not seem to notice that Luna looked less normal than usual. "Sure, there's a swamp there, but—That's one with alligators, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Gemma said, still resting her chin on her hand and staring forlornly at the swamp. Luna had no idea why Alphecca could not realize she was clearly the daughter of Sirius. It made absolutely no sense. Luna made sense in her own way, but she still made sense. Gemma, on the other hand, was illogical.

"Well, shit," Professor Black decided before he sighed and mentioned, "You might as well follow me. I need to get to the other side. You would think that the Weasley twins would have put in a recognition system to spare their idols, but no, that makes too much sense to them…"

As Gemma and Luna followed him through the swamp, Mr. Black continued to complain under his breath. When another set of Dream Bubbles assaulted them, Gemma remained as she was, Luna continued to be a scout of love and justice, and Mr. Black gained a machete, a whip, and a cool hat. All was well.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: John has no idea how to help Macha, Sirius and Artemesia can't flirt, and Vesta really hates Voldemort.  
_


	54. Another Brick In The Wall

**FYI: I AM AN IDIOT & ACCIDENTALLY PUT CHAPTER 53 WHERE CHAPTER 52 WAS SUPPOSED TO BE. THEREFORE, I HAVE DECIDED TO UPDATE AGAIN AS AN APOLOGY. TWO CHAPTERS BEFORE THIS IS NOW WHAT IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE, SO YOU MIGHT WANT TO GO READ THAT ONE, TOO.**

* * *

John Smith continued to be confused. And Macha was crying again. He was more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on, but he wished she wasn't so sad. One second she was angry at her dad, and then she felt guilty for being angry at her dad. Why couldn't she make up her mind? Maybe Gemma had finally gotten through to her? John considered the possibility for a microsecond before deciding that Gemma had nothing to do with this new change. Maybe Macha's father had talked—No, that made no sense. From what John had heard of Macha's dad, he seemed like a really nice guy, and John kinda doubted that someone that sounded like the guy that Macha (previously) and Leo described would have left Macha in tears. John had the feeling that Macha's mum had nothing to do with it, either, because Macha's mum laying down the law would probably resulted in Macha apologizing to her dad, which would have had the initial outcome. John chose to ignore the possibility that Professor Vector said anything, because Professor Vector seemed like a decent person as well as socially adequate. That left the socially inadequate to have caused this disaster. John thus decided to blame Professor Black, because he was the only other adult that John could think of who might have tried to explain to Macha that her dad was in fact a good guy. He was also the only adult of the four he could think of that was so socially inept it hurt. Well, Macha's dad may also have had problems of the social ineptitude kind, but John figured he was better off due to not being in Azkaban for over a decade.

Thus, John decided to say: "I'm sorry your uncle's an asshole."

Macha only cried harder.

John realized he should keep his mouth shut from now on. That would be the best course of action, but John realized he had never really been the smartest pencil in the box. And it really did hurt to see Macha so sad. He wanted her to tell him what was wrong so he could help, but everything kept coming out wrong, even if his statement had resulted in verification of his theory. John knew that what Macha really needed to do was to talk to her dad, but he had the sneaking suspicion that there was a reason that her father hadn't already visited to do just that. Macha had mentioned that her mum was worried about something, because her mum wrote a certain way when she was, and recent letters sounded pretty worried. Macha figured it was because her dad was a traitor, etc., but John had started to wonder if there was a different reason. After all, Professor Black looked a little ticked off when he broke up the fight between Gemma and Macha, but John had noticed that Professor Black wasn't angry at either Gemma or his niece. He just seemed on edge a bit. John figured that he might want to keep this train of thought to himself. Macha was upset enough already and didn't need John suggesting there might have been something wrong with her dad.

Macha's sobbing seemed to wind down and she managed, "John…" He, of course, was immediately at attention. She was talking to him, after all, so it only made sense that he immediately snapped to attention. "I fucked up," she hiccupped.

John almost mentioned that her statement was in fact understatement, but he remembered quickly enough that his friend was very upset and did not need a guilt-trip at that moment. "I, uh, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think?" he said hopefully, not quite believing himself even as he said it. Besides, he couldn't really advise, even with his minimal capacity in said area, unless he knew what was going on. To do that, he needed her to keep talking.

Macha shook her head and declared, "It's worse!" before she started sobbing again. John waited for her to calm down again, and she elaborated, "I was all wrong… Daddy… he—he wasn't—he wasn't really one of them. Professor Black, he—he said that they tried to kill Daddy because he got caught. That he got caught spying on them."

John had figured as much from Macha's reaction. Well, not the execution thing, but the whole Macha's dad not being an evil bastard thing. John had figured that since the beginning, anyway, but he hadn't said anything much to Macha, since she had needed all the friends she could get on her side. Her brother and—to a far greater extent—her cousin had not been helpful in the slightest. So, it had fallen to John to be the one completely on her side. Thus, he had stayed mostly silent about her father, only trying every so often to hint that the man likely had never been a real believer in Voldemort. John, however, had not expected this much of a turnaround in Macha from one conversation with her uncle. "I'm not following," John said honestly.

"The guy the Death Eaters k—killed because he wouldn't m—murder his brother," Macha stammered. "They realized, 'cause he wouldn't do it, that he wasn't really on their side." She looked like she was about to break down again, but she continued, "It was Dad."

John cringed. Oh, Macha had indeed fucked up royally. "How didn't you notice this earlier?" he asked, honestly confused. "I thought you'd done enough research to have the facts and stuff." A very important thought then struck him. "Macha? If your dad managed to make the Death Eaters so angry that they tried to kill him then, what do you think they'll do now?" he asked. John didn't mean to alarm Macha, but he figured that it might have been better for him to suggest that then let her realize it later. Since he mentioned it now, she would at least have someone to talk to about it all.

"They tried to kill Mom," Macha answered distantly. "And Dad… he couldn't…"

John considered not saying anything more, but he reassured her, "I'm sure they don't know what's going on. Your dad sounds like he can take care of himself, yeah? I mean, he successfully spied on the Death Eaters! You told me yourself how quickly the Ministry ran through people trying to do the exact same thing."

"He probably thinks I hate him," Macha cried. John awkwardly patted her back in order to calm her down. He wasn't sure what else he could do. He would have given anything for someone else to have dealt with this. _Anything_. Oh, Merlin, he would have sold his soul for Macha to feel better. John couldn't bear to see her this upset. He had tried so hard for the past couple hours to cheer her up, but he couldn't think of a way out. He just couldn't.

Of course, John should have realized that hiding out in one of the pan-house common rooms, regardless of how disused, was one of the less intelligent courses of action when trying to stay hidden. He was still surprised when he saw Professor Black walk in, looking a bit worse for wear. John then promptly felt like an idiot when he realized he had misidentified said adult. "Um, Macha, I'll be right back," John said hesitantly. Mr. Black smiled in gratitude at that, and John disentangled himself from Macha, who promptly curled up on the couch they were sitting on, before escaping as quickly as possible.

Alas, John's luck ran out as per usual when he made to glance back and make sure Macha wasn't completely having a nervous breakdown. The guy he ran into swore rather profusely when the two of them flailed and promptly fell over on their asses. John began to apologize when he realized who exactly he had collided with. "You!" he exclaimed inanely. He then realized he should be keeping his voice down and hissed, "What the hell!"

"What do you mean, what the hell? You're the midget who ran into me!" the man hissed right back. He dusted himself off and stood back up. After a moment's pause, he offered his hand to help John stand. John accepted the help, but he was still suspicious.

"You're the guy in the walls," John accused. "Also that guy from the yearbooks when Macha and I were looking for her dad." The man looked confused, which was understandable, so John elucidated, "I have a good memory. Also easily distracted."

The adult was staring at him like he was slightly crazy, but he seemed to accept that and move on. "You're friends with Reg's daughter?" the man asked before realizing what he said was a completely stupid question. John sympathized. "Of course you are. What am I thinking?" the man continued, mostly to himself. Seeming to realize he wasn't alone in the hallway, he said, "Um, well, move along?"

John raised an eyebrow. Really? That was his way of trying to get John to leave? "No," John said, unwilling to just leave because this guy said so. Now it was a matter of honor. He was not going to move because the guy said he should. Sure, John had been completely willing to leave when Macha's dad effectively asked him to, but this was different.

The man stared at John for a moment before shaking his head. With a sigh, he mentioned, "Get away while you can, kid. If the girl's anything like her father, she'll only break your heart." John chose not to dissect what the man just said. Of course, John's brain didn't always have the same feelings on the matter as John did, and so he could only stare at the stranger in confusion. The stranger seemed to realize what he had just said and backtracked, "I mean, not that I'm speaking from first-hand experience or anything. What the fuck, kid?"

John continued to stare at the older man, which seemed to creep the older man out. That was a bonus. He really just needed a couple seconds to think. For instance, why was Mr. Black here with a friend? It made sense that Professor Black had called his brother, but there was no real reason for Mr. Black to have not come alone. Now that John thought about it, Mr. Black hadn't seemed all that well. "How sick is Mr. Black? 'Cause Macha doesn't need anything more to worry about," John demanded. Sure, he was at least third the age of the guy he was talking to, but this was Macha he was talking about. She deserved more than John just scampering away.

The man's face went a little ashen, and he clearly was searching for an adequate explanation. "I don't kn—" the man started indignantly before he admitted, "Reg is good enough with illusions to keep her from realizing how bad off he is. He's far better now than he was, but…" The man grimaced and said, "That's all you need to know, kid. Now seriously, go away."

"Why?" John asked. "I'm not causing any harm. Besides, I don't want to leave Macha alone." There was no reason to chase him off, except for the fact that he and Mr. Black's friend seemed to be incompatible personalities. So what if that was the case, anyway? John was worried about Macha, and the adult was clearly worried about Mr. Black. John realized that he could actually make that argument and said, "And somehow I don't think you would leave Mr. Black alone, either, so we're clearly at an impasse."

The man raised an eyebrow and mentioned, "That's some complex thought for an eleven-year-old. Also, 'impasse'? Really? Jesus, kid, you need to stop taking the world so seriously." The man shook his head and looked off down the hallway.

"Why?" John asked. It was a valid question. After all, there was a war going on. Why should he not take things so seriously? His best friend was in tears because she had made a huge mistake about her dad, but he luckily didn't seem to care. Mr. Black sounded far more concerned about her than he did about his own feelings. John wondered how on Earth someone would end up like that. Professor Black wasn't nearly as inconsiderate of himself as his brother clearly was, so John remained confused. "If I shouldn't, then why are you?"

"I'm an adult. You're eleven," the man reminded John. He seemed more concerned now as he studied John. "Why would you think that you need to think about life, the universe, and everything right now? Christ, we're the adults. We're the ones that should be worrying about the war and all that. You and Macha, you should be worrying about your grades and not blowing things up in potions class. Seriously, kid."

"I do worry about not blowing things up in Potions. Snape is scary and always glares at me when Macha and I when I make a mistake, like that time with the caesium, which apparently was not to be put in water, no matter what Macha said to the contrary, but Leo was there and thankfully stopped me before I even took it off the shelf, thank Merlin, and Snape also scares me on principle," John replied, realizing he had started to babble again. Oh, well. It was inevitable. Most adults thought he was brainless, anyway. It wasn't like John didn't deserve it, anyway. He started talking, and then he mentioned he did some crazy and stupid things, and then adults treated him like he was really stupid. He wasn't, not really…

Strangely enough, the adult smiled and said, "Hey, don't worry, kid. I didn't mean to upset you." The adult kneeled so he was at eye-level with John. A little nervously, he said, "Look, I just meant that even though there's a war on, you shouldn't be worried about it. Adults like me and Macha's father are the ones that should be, because we—well, we want to do right where our parents didn't." He grimaced and apologized, "Sorry. I'm sure you don't want to hear about any of this. Look, it'll probably take Reg a while to explain himself. There'll be at least enough time for you to get something from the kitchens. You're friends with Reg's daughter, so I assume you know how to get in."

"I have detention in the kitchens," John replied. He turned to leave before he asked, "You want anything?" The guy seemed nice enough, even if he had been pretty creepy when he was living in the walls.

The man seemed surprised to have been asked and replied, "It's all right, kid. Thanks, though." John gave a half-smile and ran off. He'd get two cinnamon buns anyway. If Mr. Black was anywhere near as stubborn as Macha, the guy probably needed one more than John did.

* * *

"You do realize that Vesta is going to kill you, right?" Artemesia mentioned as she sipped her glass of wine. Sirius was on his second glass, but she didn't particularly blame him. After all, he was still fairly worried about his brother, and Macha wasn't particularly easy to deal with, even on a good day.

"Yeah," Sirius replied dully. He swirled the wine in his glass and looked generally morose. After a moment, he continued, "Reggie still looks pretty bad. Hell, I even asked Crouch to look after him to get him here, and I feel guilty as hell about that."

Artemesia felt like he was overreacting, but there was no way in hell she could convince him otherwise. He didn't completely trust Barty Crouch. She could understand Sirius's reasons, especially since the man was a hair's breadth away from being on the other side of the war, but Barty was ridiculously loyal to Regulus. Almost anyone who had gone to school with them would have known that. Hell, anyone with sufficient gaydar would have known that. Barty had been in love with Regulus since he was a teenager. "Sirius, you know Barty would never let any harm come to your brother," Artemesia reminded him.

"What about—" Sirius started.

"You know that's different," Artemesia cut him off. The sad thing was that she was right, at least according to Regulus himself. Both of them were silent for a moment before she said, "You did the right thing, Sirius. Your niece would have likely been depressed for a long while, otherwise, and we both know that Regulus needed to see her."

"He's not getting better, is he," Sirius stated pessimistically. Artemesia wanted to strangle him sometimes. It was usually when he started acting like this. His brother wasn't much better most of the time, but at least he listened to Vesta when he got like that.

However, Artemesia wasn't going to lie to Sirius, not about this. With a sigh, she said, "He is, Sirius. Don't be paranoid. You and I both know he's far better now than he was last month. Vesta's just worried, Sirius, because of the next Death Eater meeting." Sirius looked a bit concerned at the last. Artemesia emphatically did not want to talk about any of this if she could avoid it. "Look, Sirius, can't we talk of happier things? I thought we were going to make this a nice night, not yet another incident of 'Jesus Christ, my brother needs a brain transplant'?"

Sirius actually cracked a smile at that last sentence. "Yeah, I did promise to give you a nice night, didn't I?" he said, as if to remember. "I believe my exact words were something to the effect of 'I swear I won't talk about Reg or James or the war, and I promise I won't go off to rescue the former of the two until at least tomorrow, because he should be able to manage not getting himself into trouble until then.' Or something."

Artemesia grinned and mentioned, "You know, Sirius, this is why I'm glad you and Remus have reinstituted the Get-Sirius-Out-Of-His-Apartment nights. As far as I've heard, it's done you both good." She had phoned Remus to inform him as much the other week. Remus had been just as happy that the two of them had been going out for drinks (alcoholic, caffeinated, or otherwise). Artemesia wasn't much surprised that the two of them needed each other.

Sirius shrugged and mentioned, "Well, it's a nice vacation from being bothered by a certain Ms. Meadowes. And watching Crouch. But the two of them seem to keep each other occupied when I'm not around." He made a face and then realized, "I actually don't really want to think about it."

Artemesia giggled. "You had mentioned that Dorcas had taken an interest in Barty," she said offhandedly. Artemesia was doubtful that Dorcas would succeed if that were indeed her aim. After all, Barty didn't exactly bat for the same team Dorcas did. Of course, Artemesia could be wrong about him, but she was fairly certain that Barty had seriously pursued Regulus for a while. Artemesia couldn't quite remember if Regulus had noticed, but she was probably better off not asking in any case. "You think there's romance in the air? The two of them are perfect for each other, in a way. If not, I could see them living together in bachelorhood until the end of time."

"Hell, no," Sirius replied, still clearly not wanting to think about it. "If there is, who knows what their spawn would be like. Can you imagine it? I sure as hell don't want to." He shook his head and decided, "I don't think even Dorcas would unleash her spawn on the world."

"Are you sure? Didn't she once say she was going to have six children and raise them like wolves?" Artemesia reminded him. "If I remember correctly, Remus took offense to that and was also slightly concerned in regards to her choice for a father of her children. Thank God Lily thought to remind her that there was in fact an entire governmental agency that was meant to prevent children from being raised like wolves."

Sirius grinned and added, "Well, I think a couple of Hufflepuffs volunteered their services. And a couple of Ravenclaws. And a surprising number of Slytherins. At which point I think I told her to stay the hell away from my brother, and she informed me that she thought of both of us as—what was it?—oh, right, starfish. Pretty but sexually uninteresting. Thank God. I'd have been concerned if she'd thought starfish were interesting."

"Clearly, then, she would find me concerning," Artemesia mentioned. Sirius looked highly confused before he realized what she meant. "You know, I'm going to call you a starfish from now on. You've clearly the mental capacity of one sometimes."

"I do not have the mental capacity of a starfish," Sirius objected indignantly. "Well, not in regards to most things," he mused. Artemesia hoped she looked vaguely annoyed. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message. "Er…"

Artemesia sighed and jumped him. She always had to take the bloody initiative, didn't she? Bloody obnoxious man. She'd have to retrain him all over again.

When they came up for air, Sirius mentioned, "Maybe we should not be in your office?"

Artemesia rolled her eyes and grabbed her wand. "That's what locking spells are for," she replied and cast the spell. She threw her wand back onto her desk.

Sirius grinned and said, "Damn, I love you." He looked gorgeous when his hair was mussed like that. Doubly so when he smiled. Artemesia had missed him so damn much. She had lived without him, but when he was around, the world brightened just a bit.

Artemesia smiled and replied, "I know." Sirius chuckled at that, and she complained, "Oh, shut up. You'd have said it, too!"

"You know it," he agreed with a sly smile. Of course, Artemesia had to shut him up. He had started it! Granted, he really didn't seem to mind her solution to the problem. (On a related note, pants were evil. Pure evil. On the bright side, Sirius seemed to agree.)

* * *

Regulus walked into the house and quietly shut the front door. He threw his coat on a chair in the dining room and walked upstairs to his and Vesta's room before he collapsed onto the bed and cried. He was such an idiot! How could he have been so careless as to have let his daughter think that he was capable of—of… He should never have been allowed near children. He should have left. Why had Vesta not just kicked him out ages ago? He was useless as a human being and even worse as a father. How could he have ever…

Why had his brother thought he would have done better at trying to console Macha? Regulus was the last person his daughter had wanted to see. She shouldn't have felt so awful that she had misjudged him. He was the one that had really misjudged himself. He was worth next to nothing. The only good he had done in his life could be summarized on a post-it note, if that. He had only brought the people he cared about pain. There was no reason for him to keep on going. None at all…

He had to go to the meeting today. If he didn't go now, they would be suspicious. Bellatrix was far more intelligent than he normally gave her credit for. She would know. And afterwards, what would be the chance of her realizing what he knew? He had to go and make sure they at least did not realize others knew there were horcruxes or that he knew there was more than one. No, Bellatrix had to know he was her cousin. Narcissa had been warning him for ages, and Sirius could be blind as a bat, but if he had realized months ago, then Bellatrix definitely knew by this point. He had to get out of bed. He couldn't just lie here feeling sorry for himself. He had to go make sure Voldemort had no idea anyone besides Regulus had even heard of the horcruxes.

Shakily, Regulus stood. "Oh, God," he moaned as he collapsed again onto the bed. He thought he was better. He had felt well enough earlier. He took a shuddering breath and stood again. Regulus walked back downstairs and grabbed his coat, but before he could open the door, it opened, and Vesta walked in.

She looked surprised, but her expression quickly changed to concern. She set her purse down and asked, "Babe, what's wrong?" She gave him a quick once over before she continued, "Are you all right?" Regulus tried to reply that he was all right, that he was just going for a walk, but the words wouldn't come. Vesta dragged him over to the couch and murmured, "Reg, tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

Regulus tried to speak, but he just couldn't talk. Vesta wrapped her arm around his back and leaned into his side. He tried to stop himself from saying anything, but when he looked over at her face, at her concerned expression, he couldn't help himself. He broke down crying again and cursed himself. "I'm sorry, Vesta. I'm so sorry," he moaned. Vesta's first response was to wrap her arms around him and let him sob onto her shoulder. As he clung to her, he realized he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop crying, no matter how hard he tried.

"What happened?" Vesta asked him gently. He had stopped shaking by that point, but Vesta was not going to stop holding him until he explained himself. Regulus knew her well enough to know that. "C'mon, Reg, what happened?"

He shook his head and cried, "I can't do this, Vesta. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

Vesta stiffened and asked, clearly scared, "Reg, please, what's wrong? Please, Reg, tell me what's wrong?" Regulus knew she was going to be angry with him. He tried to help her, Macha. He had tried. But he was so screwed up. He couldn't even explain. Vesta continued, "Reggie, please? What's wrong?"

He managed to stop crying as he admitted, ashamed, "Macha thought that I… She thought that I was one of—one of _them_. I—she was so upset. Sirius can't talk to kids for shit, but she felt bad 'cause she thought I was one of them." He sobbed, "Vesta, I don't deserve you! I didn't mean for any of this! If you'd just married someone else, you wouldn't have—"

"Regulus, please stop," Vesta cried. Oh, God, he hadn't meant to make her upset. Why did he always manage to hurt her? "Please stop saying these things about yourself, Regulus. Please. I love _you_, and I don't care that you don't think you're worthy, because I think you are. You're the love of my life, you idiot, so stop saying you aren't!"

Regulus stiffened and extricated himself from her arms. "I'm sorry. I—I should go," he said brokenly. He stood and shrugged his coat on. He didn't even make it five feet before Vesta grabbed his arm. Her grip was fairly tight, and Regulus couldn't bring himself to shrug her hand off. "Please, Vesta, just let me go."

"No," she said, her voice steely. "You are not leaving until you tell me when your antidepressants ran out."

The blood drained from his face, but he replied honestly, "Two weeks ago."

"Goddammit, Regulus," Vesta muttered. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Would you like a list?" he asked sarcastically. Why was he trying to piss her off? Why? He shouldn't have said anything. He couldn't let her hate him. What was wrong with him? He glanced back at her, and his anger melted away like ice in a furnace. "I'm sorry. She just—I couldn't take it that Macha felt that way because of me. I'm sorry, Vesta. I'm so…" The room seemed to spin for a moment, but Regulus got himself under control and continued, "I'm sorry."

Vesta had been watching him more closely than he had thought, because she said gently, "Regulus, sit down, please. You're not well." He wavered on his feet, but he did what she asked, although he had only trusted himself to make it to the stairs. She briefly examined him, took his temperature, checked his pulse. "What did you do today other than visit Macha?"

"I did some work. Nothing—nothing too strenuous," he replied, shaking a little.

Apparently satisfied, Vesta hugged him. "Please don't do what you're planning on," she begged him. At his confused look, she informed him, "Don't play stupid, Regulus. You're planning on going to the Death Eater meeting. You're making excuses again, you bastard. You can't just throw your life away. I love you, and the kids love you. They'd be devastated. Please don't do this!"

Regulus kissed her in way of an apology. The look on her face afterward broke his heart, but he told her, "I'm sorry, love. I… I have to go. I have to do this. I love you, Vesta. You know that, but I have to at least make an appearance. I have to. I love you, but I have to do this." It broke his hear to watch her cry, but he couldn't back down. He couldn't back down. He couldn't—wouldn't—give in. Not to his fears. Never again. Pulling himself together, he held her close and promised, "I'll come back. I swear. I'll never leave you if I can help it."

"I'll hold you to it," Vesta swore. She kissed him one last time before he stood. "You better come back. If I don't see you for twenty-four hours, I'm calling your brother."

"Then I better come back soon," Regulus said jokingly. "We wouldn't want Sirius alerting the National Guard, now would we?" Vesta looked like she was about to cry, so Regulus held her tight again. "I swear, Vesta, everything will be all right," he murmured. "I'll be fine, and I'll come back to you. And I'll love you 'till the stars fall from the sky."

"Stars die alone in space," Vesta reminded him. "They don't fall. Meteors fall."

"Then I guess that means I'll love you forever, huh?" Regulus replied, as if he had just realized that. Vesta ignored his silly joke and kissed him again, trying to make him stay. Serious, he swore, "I'll come back as quick as I can. This will be the last time, love, I swear. I'll never go to one of those meetings ever again. I just need to buy a little more time, that's all, and this will be enough." Trying not to cry again, he wiped the tears from her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Vesta cried into his chest. "Please don't go!"

Regulus broke his promise to himself. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he felt the tears stream down his face. He cupped Vesta's face with his hand and kissed her goodbye. "I love you so much…" He stepped away from her, and before she began to beg him not to leave another time, he disapparated.

* * *

Staring at the building where he was likely going to die shortly, Regulus Black murmured to his absent wife, "Please forgive me." He braced himself and walked inside. Then everything went black.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Why Regulus is terrified of Bellatrix & Sirius does the next best thing to calling the National Guard._


	55. Tied To That Chair You Won't Go Anywhere

So. This chapter contains a potential trigger. For those who might be affected, I suggest skipping until you see the word "Voldemort" the fourth time (using the Find function) after this one.

* * *

When Regulus came to, he realized he was in Bellatrix's room. His wrists were chained together, as were his ankles. He considered trying to find something to pick the locks, but with his hands chained as they were, it would have been an exercise in futility. His mind was a bit fuzzy, in any case, and Regulus could only assume that Bellatrix or a minion of hers had hit him on the back of the head before he was rendered unconscious by magic. That he was in her personal chambers scared him more than he wanted to admit. She knew it was him. The potential reasons why there was a sudden change in treatment made him want to curl up in a corner and hide, but he took solace in the fact that she was unlikely to kill him for a while.

That was when he noticed the knife on the side table. As best he could, Regulus scrambled away from that side of the bed. Maybe she had just left it lying around? She wouldn't ruin silk sheets, would she? Would she? No, this was Bellatrix he was talking about. Of course she wouldn't ruin silk sheets. Then why the hell was he here? Unless this was an illusion… "Oh, God, please let it be an illusion," Regulus begged to anything that would listen.

The door clicked, and, terrified, Regulus pretended to still be unconscious. He heard the clatter of a woman walking in high heels before the door shut again. Bellatrix was back. "Cousin, please stop pretending to be asleep. Acting does not become you," she demanded haughtily. Regulus chose to ignore her. She likely would have said that even if he had still been out like a light. However, she walked over and slapped him in the face. He stopped pretending, but he refused to say a word. "That's better," she declared, pleased with herself. "Now, you will tell me exactly what you've been doing for the past year or so you've been with us."

"Will you kill me more quickly?" Regulus asked, trying to keep his voice as level as he could. It came out more nervous than he intended, but he was happy enough with it.

"We're all alone, cousin. What do you think?" she asked him as she leered at him.

Regulus turned away from her. Yes, he was bound and chained, but he didn't have to look at her if he didn't want to. He didn't have to notice that she was sitting so close to him. (Oh, God, why didn't she move away? What he would have given for her to move just an inch away from him! Why wasn't she torturing him instead? _Why_?)

"Can't you think of a game to play?" Bellatrix asked, stroking his face. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore her. "Come now, cousin. I'm sure you can. After all, we've had this dance before." Regulus could only stare in absolute terror when she made him look at her. He wished she didn't have so much power over him, but he couldn't escape. He never could. He glanced longingly at the door, but with the chains binding his wrists anchored to the wall, he could never escape. He was trapped, as he usually was, but Bellatrix had chosen to make this cage gilded.

"I wouldn't call it a dance," he spat at her. He wouldn't call it anything. No, he would not name what she did, nor would he think about it. He couldn't, not if he wanted to stay sane.

"Fine, then. What would you call it?" she inquired, her voice silkily smooth. She was trying to lull him into a false sense of security or to make him even more scared. Whatever her initial intention, she was succeeding at least partially. He wanted to scream until his voice went hoarse and then scream some more. Since he clearly was not going to answer her, Bellatrix declared, "Be that way, cousin, at your own risk. I was thinking of letting you do the honorable thing and take your own life, but now I see you still need to be taught a lesson. Of course, I may change my mind if you tell me what I want to know…"

Regulus stared at the ceiling. If he ignored her, maybe she would go away, but he knew she wouldn't. He had tried to be strong, but maybe she was telling the truth. He gave into that weakness and asked, "What—what do you want to know?" He cursed himself for sounding so pathetic. He deserved to die, but maybe telling Bellatrix some useless information would let him have some time alone. There was that knife on the table, after all. He could find a way to kill himself. That way, he wouldn't suffer, and the Death Eaters would still be left with no information. Everyone won. (Except for the people he cared about, but Regulus was not in the mood to be thinking about them. Not right now.)

"Come now, cousin, what do you think?" she asked him with a predatory look on her face. Regulus realized she was not going to let him go, regardless of what he told her. No, she was going to do as she wished, and he couldn't stop her.

"You're going to do what you want, Bella. Why should I say anything?" he asked with resignation. He was at fault for all of this. Hell, he even deserved it.

Bellatrix smiled in a way he could only describe as evilly. "Oh, Reggie, you look absolutely gorgeous when you give up," she told him as she toyed with the buttons on his shirt. He tried not to give away how scared he was, but Bellatrix of course caught his fear. "You're almost as beautiful as when you're terrified." He tried to bring his emotions back under control, but then Bellatrix began to undress him.

"Bella, please. Please don't," he begged. He was so bloody pathetic. He couldn't even stop her from doing this to him. Why wasn't he struggling? (The first time, he had struggled. He still had the scars from what she had done to him for that.) He should have tried to fight. He should have. "Bella, please," he whined as she straddled him. "Please stop. No…"

He continued to beg for her to stop as she started to undo the buttons on his jeans, but she ignored him. His face flushed with shame when his body responded to her actions, but he always did. Sometimes she even made him beg for her to—to—Oh, God, he couldn't even admit it to himself. He hoped that this time she would just use him and then leave. Then he would be alone, and hopefully that knife would still be where Bellatrix left it.

"Come now, cousin, given up already?" she mocked him after he had ceased begging for her to stop. He wasn't going to respond to her. He wasn't going to pay any attention to her. She could do whatever she wanted with his body, but he did not have to listen to her. She slapped him in the face, hard, but he kept staring at the wall. It was a decent wall. Too baroque for his tastes, but he could probably keep himself occupied until Bellatrix became bored. At least she'd just torture him when she was bored. No—he was not going to think about that.

Some time later, Regulus realized Bellatrix had unchained him when she threw his clothes at him and barked, "Get dressed." He didn't need to be told twice. He didn't need to be told, period, even if all he wanted to do at that moment was curl up and die. Still, he did as he was told and made himself stand next to her, between her and the knife. He didn't dare look at her and kept his gaze rooted to the floor. "You know, cousin, sometimes I wonder why I even bother trying to discipline you. You never seem to learn anything," Bellatrix spat, disgusted with him. Regulus wondered why she hadn't taken him to Voldemort before … this, but he could not ask her. She might keep him here longer, and he didn't think he could take this again. "Say something, you worthless coward!" she shouted. He flinched, but she had waited for him to do that before backhanding him hard enough for him to lose his balance.

He shivered as he collected himself up off the floor. He should say something, shouldn't he? He didn't want to make her angrier than she already was. "I—I apologize," he murmured as he wiped the blood away from his cut lip.

"You should," Bellatrix declared. She looked him over (oh God it was like she was undressing him with her eyes no he couldn't think wouldn't think) and said, "I suppose you think I should have taken you to see our Lord, first, don't you?" She scoffed and informed him, "As if you're worthy of his presence. You always were a self-righteous, indignant child. The only difference between then and now is that you've somehow managed to become an even worse lay, from a disobedient brat to a coma patient. What can even that mudblood harlot see in you? Your looks barely suffice, and you have no status any longer."

Regulus wasn't listening. He was not listening to her. He glanced over where the knife was, but his heart sank even further when he noticed it was gone. Now he had no way to escape from her. He had to hope Voldemort would simply execute him, because Bellatrix was never going to let him go, he realized.

She laughed derisively at him and waved the knife in his face. "Looking for this?" she asked with a sneer. He must have let some emotion show on his face, because Bellatrix laughed and coldly informed him, "You lost your chance to convince me to give you the chance to make your own end." She laughed at him as he simply gave up trying to pretend she didn't affect him as much as she did. He was absolutely worthless. Absolutely bloody fucking worthless. Bellatrix stared at him dispassionately for a moment as he cried, collapsed in a heap on the floor, before she demanded, "Stand up." He didn't care anymore. She was going to keep on using him for as long as she wanted and then maybe she would show him some mercy and kill him, like last time. Oh, God, why hadn't she just cut deeper and spared him the heartache? Then he wouldn't have ever hurt Vesta. She was going to be so disappointed in him. Bellatrix kicked him and ordered, "Stand up, you worthless piece of trash."

"So now I'm trash? What happened to being good enough to fuck?" Regulus demanded, surprised by himself. Noticing the look in her eye, he braced himself for the next kick. It didn't come. What did come was Bellatrix man-handling him to his feet.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" Bellatrix demanded, one hand around his throat. Disgusted, she threw him back down on the bed. He scrambled away from her as quickly as he could, moving as far away from the bed as he could in the process. "Oh, look. Of course the coward in you comes out. Do you really think I enjoy having you so much that I would have fucked you again?" She dragged him back over to the bed.

"Bella, please! Please don't! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that!" he cried, hoping to God she wasn't going to make good on her threat. "I am worthless. I'm not worth the effort it takes to—to—Please, Bella, don't!" He was crying again, and he felt like kicking himself.

Apparently satisfied with his behavior, Bellatrix threw him back onto the ground. "That's right," she declared. "Now pull yourself together. I am not taking you to meet Voldemort looking like something the cat dragged in." Regulus hesitantly stood defeatedly, and Bellatrix smiled. "That's better. Maybe I'll give you a treat later."

The blood drained from Regulus's face, but he stayed silent as Bellatrix lead him out from the room. It took some time to walk from that room to wherever she was taking him, but he was able to think about nothing, which he was eternally grateful for. He couldn't stand himself, and he did not want to think about how he felt. Finally, Bellatrix threw him onto the floor in front of the Dark Lord. Regulus realized dimly that he wasn't bound, but there was no point in running. He would only be kept alive longer if he pissed any of them off.

"My Lord, I apologize for my tardiness, but I needed to be sure of my discovery," Bellatrix began. A good number of people were glaring at her in annoyance. Others were more rationally wondering why Regulus was on the floor again. Snape's face remained stoic; Regulus was glad of that. He didn't need to screw Snape's position over, too. He had fucked his own life over enough for a thousand lifetimes. It was better that he kept his stupidity contained to himself. "This _spy_, as we all know, has been nothing but a nuisance these past few months. A marginally useful nuisance, but a nuisance nonetheless," she continued. Regulus wondered when she would get to her point. The others must be bored as hell with her dramatics. He was, but he was biased. The thought then occurred to him to stand up and defend himself, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Rudolphus had to know that the only reason Bellatrix would have been this ardent in her declaration was that she had realized something that pleased her, and Rudolphus made sure to remember whatever pleased her. "It seems that our spy here isn't who he says he is. I know that is not a surprise to many of us, but his identity may be," Bellatrix explained to placate the Death Eaters less than interested by her announcements. Regulus wondered if in the case he did try to make a run for it, one of the others might accidentally kill him. He could only hope. Smug, Bellatrix hauled Regulus onto his knees. There went his escape plan. With a disturbing grin, Bellatrix addressed Voldemort, "My Lord, I believe you recognize my cousin?"

Oh, look, Voldemort wanted to kill someone. Regulus hoped it was him. Please let it be him. That would be the best—Oh, shit, Voldemort could read his mind. DAMMIT. Regulus slammed his Occlumency shields up as soon as he realized, but Voldemort was angry enough to tear them back down as if they were tissue paper. "Regulus Black. I should have known," Voldemort hissed. The Dark Lord drifted over and stared at him in disgust. Regulus figured that was because Bellatrix's actions were still in the forefront of his mind, and no one wanted to think about that. "I found your note, by the by," Voldemort mentioned. His voice was quiet enough that only Regulus could hear it, but Regulus still felt a shiver run down his spine. Addressing Bellatrix, Voldemort inquired, "When did you realize?"

Bellatrix did not even bat an eyelash. "I started to suspect early this year, but it was only when I talked to my sister that I realized I was likely correct. Narcissa has a soft spot for the wretch I cannot even begin to fathom, but my discussion with her solidified my theories," Bellatrix reported. "It was just a matter of time until I could verify the facts, and I thought you would be most pleased if I did not inform anyone of my findings until I captured this knave."

Voldemort turned his gaze back to Regulus, who had taken the time to more subtly reestablish his mental shields, and inquired, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Regulus considered folding, like he had with Bellatrix, but this—this situation was different. Here he could insult anyone, and she wouldn't hurt him, not before someone either tried to kill him or Voldemort demanded he die. "I only wish I could have lived to see you dead," Regulus declared. "You won't win, you know. You can't. The prophecy—yes, I know what it says in full—has already been set in motion, and regardless of whether or not I die today, I'll at least die secure in the knowledge that Potter can kill you."

"You are as much the headstrong fool as your cousin alleges," Voldemort declared. He cast the Cruciatus curse on Regulus out of habit. Regulus took it as a good sign, even if he was writhing on the floor in agony. On the bright side, he didn't scream much. He might be a coward, but he could definitely manage to keep a hold on his pain. To the Death Eaters (Bellatrix included, Regulus was happy to note), Voldemort ordered, "Leave us." All the Death Eaters fled from the room with only Bellatrix dragging her feet. Snape had made sure to be in the middle of the pack; good for him. At least one of them was sensible.

"Didn't want them to know what you've done?" Regulus inquired, damning the consequences. Pissing off Voldemort was a fine way to go. "I thought you would want them to know that you were immortal. Any Dark Lord worth their salt would, except I suppose those that have made a horcrux."

Voldemort cast a spell slightly more imaginative than the Cruciatus, and that shut Regulus up for another couple minutes. Except, of course, for the screaming. "I suppose you found it amusing to infiltrate the Death Eaters a second time," Voldemort mused. Regulus really would not have used the word "amusing". He would have chosen words such as "a living hell" or "torture" or "the worst of many terrible decisions in his life" or a combination of the three. "That said, I suppose I should not have expected less from you. Your intelligence did you credit when you put it to proper use, but you seem to enjoy signing your own death warrant." Regulus was about to interject since he had gained a minimal amount of control back from the part of his brain that wanted him to keep screaming in agony, but Voldemort seemed to notice and cast a silencing charm on him. How convenient. "This leads me to what I want to know. When did you realize I made a horcrux, who did you tell, and why did you return?" the Dark Lord demanded. Sensing that Regulus was likely to be defiant, Voldemort added, "If you tell me, I might let Rudolphus verify the information instead of Bellatrix." Regulus paled at that, and the Dark Lord caught his reaction. "Don't think I would trade speed and accuracy for the satisfaction of knowing you suffered before you died—and you will die soon, I guarantee that."

The Dark Lord lifted the silencing charm, and relieved he had been given a chance to properly mislead Voldemort, Regulus answered in rapid fire, "Fifteen years ago; some superior who thought nothing of it; and I thought you might have been insane enough to make another." He hoped he looked sufficiently cowed for Voldemort. Maybe the lunatic would take him at face value or at least seriously enough that Rudolphus would be the one executing him.

"Now, Mr. Black, I thought you were going to tell me the truth," Voldemort mentioned offhandedly as he cast the Cruciatus on Regulus again. When the spell died down, Voldemort inquired as if talking to a small child, "Are you going to tell me the truth now, or do I have to call Bellatrix in here? I'm certain your cousin would just love to extract all the details."

Oh, God, no. Why wasn't Voldemort believing him? Sure, it wasn't all true, but if the Dark Lord knew enough to properly threaten him, then surely Voldemort would have known that Regulus would have more likely than not told the truth. "Wait! No, don't! Not Bella," Regulus pleaded. "Anything but Bella. Please! I told you the truth. I found your Godforsaken cave fifteen years ago and found the horcrux. I really didn't tell anyone else except for my superiors, and they thought I was crazy for thinking you even made one! And then—I had to come back because I didn't have time to destroy it before Bella caught me back then… I borrowed a weapon from my brother, who is so much of an idiot that he doesn't even realize I'm not dead, and I destroyed the fucking horcrux. That's everything I know!" he explained as fast as he could. Regulus could feel the pain from the curses creeping up on him. He shouldn't have angered Voldemort in such quick succession when the Dark Lord was using more than just the Cruciatus. The spell interactions alone could be enough to kill him. "Please, please don't hand me over to Bella! I'll do anything! Just please don't let her—" Regulus begged before Voldemort cut him off with another spell.

"Be quiet. Pleading always puts me in a foul mood, but since you're already damned, I assume you're now trying to anger me for that express purpose," Voldemort said, disgusted. "You mentioned you were able to destroy my horcrux, which you will eventually pay for with your life if I'm feeling merciful. How is that possible?" he demanded. Regulus couldn't tell if Voldemort's question was a test or an actual inquiry, because if it were the latter, then the joke was definitely on Voldemort. James and Lily were probably laughing at him—both of them, likely—in the great beyond. Well, they deserved to feel shadenfreude.

"Sword…" Regulus managed, trying not to choke on blood. If Voldemort wanted to keep him alive, he wasn't doing a very good job. If the Dark Lord had put any more power into that last curse, he could have accidentally killed Regulus, which was counter-productive. Voldemort looked angry that Regulus wasn't stringing together more than one word, so Regulus attempted, "A sword… Slytherin's… Took from Bella's dowry. Sirius thought it would … thought it would be better… more effective… than—than a cursed… a cursed blade."

"Slytherin had a sword like Gryffindor?" Voldemort demanded, surprised by this new information. Regulus could only be glad that the Dark Lord decided to take his words as truth this time. Then he realized what he had said. If Voldemort stopped to think about it, the Dark Lord would realize that Regulus must have told his brother about the horcruxes. Otherwise, there was no way for Sirius to know what sort of weapon would work best.

"Y—yes," Regulus managed, weakly making his way back to his knees instead of a limp sprawl on the floor. "Less gaudy… Black and green. Not—not red and gold. Em'ralds much rarer, 'specially if they're good. Slyth'rin … wanted best."

Voldemort watched Regulus like a hawk and, apparently satisfied with the results of the inquest so far, said, "And you said you told no one?"

Regulus shut his eyes. Of course Voldemort would have noticed. What kind of idiot was he to think that he would not have? Trying to dam back tears, Regulus admitted, "I had to tell… had to tell Sirius what—what I was trying to destroy. He—he thought I was crazy." Crazy for defying Voldemort and then spying on him, thus putting himself in so much danger, but crazy nevertheless. "He doesn't know anything more than what I said. He wouldn't think there were more unless I had proof, and I—I don't, so you—you don't need to worry about him. My Lord."

" 'My Lord'? Really, Mr. Black? Don't you think that's overdoing it just a bit?" Voldemort sneered. He laughed derisively. "I might have believed you if not for that."

Regulus looked up, terrified. "No, please, sir. You have to believe me! Sirius had nothing to do with this! Nothing! I was an idiot for even mentioning—mentioning anything to him! He has no idea what I was talking about!" Regulus lied as believably as he could. That he would die was a given, but there was no way in hell Regulus would let his brother be dragged down with him. Not this time. Never again.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and said, "I suppose I might believe you, then." He snorted and mentioned, "I suppose the idiotic loyalty your brother has is only magnified in you. Pettigrew suggested as much, years ago. I always wondered why your cousin thought it a good idea to bring you into the fold. Maybe she thought that you could have converted that foolish impulse to our benefit. You did seem like you would make a powerful ally."

Suddenly angry, Regulus spoke without thinking: "I was a child. What right did you have to—" He broke off as another shockwave of pain scorched his nerves, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Where in the hell was this anger coming from? He couldn't really be angry with Voldemort for insulting—It was because of Sirius; that was it.

Voldemort made an expression that once would have raised an eyebrow. "And Bellatrix thinks you weak," he mentioned, clearly amused. "I would give her 'coward', but 'weak'?" He made a sound of contempt and continued, "A weak man would have not sought death by betraying me. I give you credit for that, even if I find your choice distasteful. My only regret in choosing to deal with you is that you were not convinced of the righteousness of the Cause."

"Whatever you say, Lord Vader. Next time, you might want to make your intentions more obvious and use swastikas," Regulus growled. What in the hell was he doing? And had Voldemort just complemented him? Clearly the world was about to end. Also, it was probably the wrong course of action to call Voldemort by the name of a Dark Lord of the Sith and compare him to a similarly hypocritical genocidal maniac.

Voldemort stared at him dispassionately and sighed. "I should have realized you were already delirious. No matter," he said, of the opinion Regulus didn't really have any idea what was going on. Regulus, on one level, was willing to agree with him, but he was aware enough to know he should have been killed for what he just said. Well, maybe not the Vader thing; he would have been killed by Vader if he compared him to Voldemort, probably. Well, if Vader existed. Which he didn't. Maybe Regulus was going a bit mad with pain. No—no, he couldn't go mad. No, he didn't want to end up like Mum. He would not let that happen. Regulus tried to block everything out, but the pain was too sharp to let him fade away. "Bellatrix!" Voldemort called. Regulus felt the despair wash over him. Of course the Dark Lord would have said those things to make him talk. Of course Bellatrix would never let anyone else torment her cousin. "Have Rudolphus take this human refuse away and call in the Inner Circle."

Regulus thanked whatever deity had decided to take pity on him when Lestrange roughly dragged him to his feet. Outside the door, Regulus almost collapsed in pain, but Lestrange would not brook any lagging. So, Regulus suppressed what he could and followed the older man. It still amazed him that he remained unbound. Why was he not trying to escape? Lestrange would have killed him instantly, but didn't Regulus want that? He would be beyond Bellatrix's reach, but— "Black, I would stop thinking about escape if I were you," Lestrange growled, having interpreted the younger man's body language to mean the opposite of what he intended.

"I'm not," Regulus replied distantly, still surprised at himself. Why was he not rushing towards death? It would have solved his problems, except… There was something, wasn't there? "Where would, I go, anyway? I can't escape; I'm going to die."

"Do you really like Bellatrix's company that much?" Lestrange demanded, disgusted.

"What could have given you that impression?" Regulus asked listlessly, suppressing a shudder. Lestrange found part of the response bizarre and stared at the younger man for a long moment before resuming the march towards the cells. The one they stopped in front of was not the one Bellatrix was fond of. "What…?"

"Consider it a small mercy," Lestrange explained laconically. Wasn't mercy an alien impulse for him? The last time Regulus checked, it had been. Then, Lestrange slipped him a dagger before shoving him into the darkened room. "Do what you will," the dark wizard said before he slammed the door shut and bolted it, leaving Regulus alone.

He was alone. Bellatrix was not there. And he had a weapon. It was a mundane weapon, but it was a weapon he could use. Some light filtered through the crack between the door and the floor, but it was enough for the dagger's intended purpose. There was only one reason Lestrange would have handed him this weapon. Regulus could only harm one person with it, but that was what he had been hoping for, wasn't it?

Why, then, was he pausing? Why hadn't he shoved the blade between his ribs and ended it all? He had given Voldemort enough misinformation to distract him for at least a month or two, which would have been more than enough for Sirius and Dorcas to find the rest of the horcruxes and destroy them. He had fulfilled his purpose, so why in the name of God was he hesitating? He was enough of a coward, weak enough to do this, so why did he stay his hand?

There was no reason to it! The best, the smartest course of action was to do this. It was why he had not told anyone the day he had went to find the horcrux in the cave. It only made sense that he died. It only made sense that he took the information to the grave, but then he hadn't died like he planned. Why now could he not do this? He should have had no problem forcing Lestrange to kill him, but he hadn't run. And now he had this damned blade in his hands, and he couldn't bring himself to do the deed.

This was the perfect opportunity, and yet he would not take it. He needed to take it, but he wouldn't. It would protect everyone involved if he took his life, but he couldn't make himself even unsheathe the blade. Why couldn't he bring himself to do this? _You promised her you would come back._ He stiffened and distantly heard the weapon clatter to the floor. Vesta… No. Killing himself would protect her. He would only cause her harm if he stayed alive. Bellatrix would have a legitimate reason to try to murder his wife. He married a halfblood, and she couldn't stand it. No, it didn't matter what he had promised, not considering that.

Vesta would understand, wouldn't she?

* * *

Sirius was going to kill his brother. No, that was not something to joke about. Nor was institutionalizing him, which Sirius was beginning to suspect he should have been. The next time he saw Regulus, he was going to make sure that stupid kid stayed put. There was no reason for him to have gone off to that meeting. He had warned him that Lestrange was out for his blood, but did Regulus listen? No, of course not. Because the kid thought he knew better than his brother, who had more or less been given the information from the horse's mouth (even if it had been the result of a telephone game between the Black sisters). Of course Regulus was going to do something stupid, because that was what Regulus did. He went and tried his best to get himself killed regardless of the consequences.

Sirius knew the kid had good intentions, but there was no reason for Regulus to have done something so stupid. He was going to buy his sister-in-law a lifetime supply of chocolate for ignoring Regulus's stupid request. A mere four hours after the kid had gone and done something stupid, she had called Artemesia, who was a little peeved to have been woken in the middle of the night. Sirius had been only half-asleep at that point, but he was wide-awake the instant Vesta had mentioned that Regulus was missing.

Thus, Sirius was knocking on the door to Dorcas's room in his flat, about three-quarters of the way to barging in and shaking her awake. He may have been crazy enough to charge into the Death Eater headquarters, but he wasn't stupid enough to do it alone. Dorcas was one of the best to have at one's back in an all-out brawl, and she would know where Crouch was. He would supply the intel needed to sneak in and sneak out with minimal difficulty. Sirius expected all three of them would end up casualties to some degree, but he would be damned if he was going to let the Death Eaters out of this with none were that to happen.

"Dorcas, goddammit, wake the fuck up!" Sirius shouted as he hammered on her door again. He was about fifteen seconds from losing patience, but Dorcas seemed to have realized that Sirius was not annoyed at her and opened the door. She was standing there in her nightclothes, which for her was just the more comfortable half of her day clothes.

"What in the fuck is wrong with you? This was going to be my first good night of sleep in ages," Dorcas complained, still a little disoriented, before she noticed how Sirius looked. Then, she sobered considerably and demanded, "Brief me." A pair of underwear was flung at her head, which she ignored entirely. Sirius was consequently glad he had not charged into the room. Dorcas stepped outside the door and shut it behind her, waiting for the details.

"The dumbfuck went to the Death Eater meeting," Sirius explained.

For Dorcas, that was enough. She opened the door to the room and barked, "Get dressed. We have a mission. And stop throwing underwear at me. There could be guests." She shut the door again, just daring Sirius to ask what was going on. Unluckily for her, he planned on it.

"You're sleeping with Crouch? Really?" Sirius said, amazed he could still be surprised by Dorcas after a couple decades. "You don't know what kind of diseases he might have."

Dorcas glared at him and shot back, "Oh, really? You can't judge me, Mr. Perfect. Not all of us had someone waiting for them." She ran her hand through her hair. After counting to ten internally, she reiterated, "You're bloody lucky, you know that? Fabian's dead, and nothing's going to bring him back. It was a fluke that I survived, and Crouch, well, he's as slippery as an eel and cunning as a fox. It's no surprise he managed to fool the Ministry. It's a bloody miracle that your brother's managed to evade death at every turn, but we're it. For some reason beyond me, we're the only ones that managed not to die." She bit her lip and requested, "Just, cut me some slack, Sirius? Would it hurt you to do this just once?"

Sirius immediately felt guilty and apologized, "I'm—I'm sorry. I'm just—"

Strangely calm considering the circumstances, Dorcas said, "I know, Sirius. I know. It's all right." With a grin, she reassured him, "With our powers combined, we might just be able to pull this off." Sirius had the feeling part of that was meant to be a joke, but he wasn't sure which part. "So, how long has it been?" Dorcas asked.

"Seven hours," Sirius replied. Vesta had figured Regulus was likely to be back after two hours, but she had waited another four, just in case something had kept him. However, that was about the time she gave up and called Artemesia. "Vesta was worried when Regulus didn't come back by one o'clock. It's two now, but it took me a while to get what information I could before coming to find you. And Crouch, really."

Dorcas did some mental math. "I don't know, Sirius," she murmured. "This doesn't look good. Bellatrix probably already got her filthy paws on him, and if we're even more unlucky, she dragged him off to see Voldemort first." She bit her lip, considering the possibilities. Hesitantly, she posited, "If I can second-guess what's going on, hopefully by the time we get our act together, he'll be locked up in a cell, alone. Lestrange and Bellatrix are especially fond of sensory deprivation, if I remember correctly. Lucius couldn't conduct an 'interview' if his life depended on it, thank God. Subtlety's as foreign to the Rabastard as sushi, and Voldemort wouldn't have let anyone like Macnair anywhere around a prisoner he actually wanted information out of. That means we have a window of about four hours. Bellatrix would start in early, but if Lestrange is in control, then we might have up to a day." Turning to the closed door, she asked in a half-shout, "Any thoughts?"

"Sounds about right," Crouch called back before something crashed. "Sorry. I'll fix it."

Sirius blinked and asked Dorcas, "Seriously, what in the hell do you see in him?"

Dorcas was suspicious of the question (understandably) and responded, "Is this a 'what the fuck, Dorcas, you've found a spaz of your calibur' question or a 'I hate that man with the fire of a thousand suns because I don't trust him around my brother for stupid reasons' question?"

"You know he likely just tripped over himself while trying to put jeans on."

"I find it endearing."

Crouch took the opportunity to fall over when he opened the door. Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose and asked no one in particular, "Remind me again why I thought seeking you for help was a good idea? Because I'm really not seeing the reason."

"It's our stunning personalities," Crouch explained from the floor. He stood up and brushed himself off. "By-the-by, about two, three hours ago, this got left for you," he mentioned, handing Sirius a note with a key cellotaped to it. "I figured it must have been a mistake, but…"

Sirius paled and demanded, "Do the numbers mean anything to you?" He was talking to Crouch, but Dorcas seemed to realize their significance as well. She also seemed to realize why he was hesitant to trust the word that accompanied them.

Crouch frowned and admitted, "Yeah, it looks like the coordinates for a cell in the detention block, but I don't know what—" He stopped abruptly and demanded in return, "You don't think one of the Death Eaters left the key here? Fuck, Black, this could be a trap."

Dorcas snatched the note and stared at the paper. She frowned and said rationally, "It would have said more if it were a trap. You know that, Sirius. Besides, do you think—Wait, why didn't you ask Snape what was going on?"

Sirius grimaced and replied, "He wasn't back yet. Don't you think I would have broken his door down first?" With a sigh, he added, "But I didn't check a second time before I left, because this—this is the perfect chance for a spy to break cover."

"Everyone knows Severus and Regulus were friends once upon a time," Crouch reminded Dorcas, "and it's likely that Severus would have ended up sympathetic to him even undercover. Sev knows better than to sign his death warrant."

Sirius tore the key off the paper, ignoring the handwriting staring back at him. If this were a trap, that rat was going to burn in hell sooner rather than later. Sirius would strangle him with his bare hands if necessary. He would apologize to Moony later. "You know where to go?" Sirius asked Crouch, surprised he actually felt like being civil to the other man.

"Yeah. It's Rudolphus's territory, if I remember correctly. Bellatrix kept her, um, victims a couple cells down from that," Crouch reported. He glanced at what each of them was wearing and mentioned, "Dorcas, you might want to put some pants on. Maybe a bra, too."

"I wouldn't have suspected you'd find boobs distracting," Sirius commented.

"Well, if you would have toned down the homophobia once in a while, you would have noticed that I'm not gay," Crouch shot back when Dorcas had left the room in search of pants.

"Are you seriously going to pretend that—"

"I like women, too," Crouch growled at him. "So shut up about it, will you?"

"A) I am not a homophobe. You might remember that Gideon was as flaming as a pink flamingo. B) I thought you could only like one or the other?" Sirius retorted, equally annoyed.

Crouch stared at him, dumbfounded. With an exasperated sigh, he said, "You know what, I'll explain it all to you later. Right now is not the best time to give you a lecture on sexuality and gender studies. Also, a pink flamingo? Really?"

"Did you meet Gideon?" Sirius stated in his defense.

Crouch paused and admitted, "That's a fair point. I'll give you that one on the condition that you stop giving me grief about your brother." He then said slowly and loudly, "WHO WE ARE GOING TO RESCUE, SO GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR, DORCAS."

"You can guess why I freaked, can't you? Knowing Regulus?" Sirius asked. If he was going to make peace, he was going to make peace.

Crouch smiled wryly and said, "Why do you think I encouraged Mr. Martyr Complex to chase after a certain medwitch? Granted, I didn't expect he miss a flight of stairs, but…"

Dorcas reentered the room at that moment and was promptly confused. "You are talking. Peaceably," she stated. She looked at her watch, then back at them, and demanded, "How did you get the time to shave off your mirror-universe goatees?"

"Dorcas. Magic," Sirius reminded her with a straight face. Dorcas sighed in annoyance, so Sirius turned to Crouch and inquired, "Speaking of, we're going to need disguises. What do you think? Is black in? Or do I need to find a brown shirt?"

"You have no idea how many Death Eaters would not have understood that allusion," Barty lamented. He became serious again almost immediately and said, "We'll need black cloaks. It's easy enough to transfigure the masks. We'll all need them, especially you and Dorcas. Dorcas might be able to confuse the new recruits, but I think Rabastan would go batshit if he ran into her. You, of course, are nearly identical to your brother, and I would have insisted on you wearing one of the masks regardless. Since you can pretend to be new recruits that way, I don't need to copy the Dark Mark onto your arms, which would have been a royal pain in the ass. Also, Sirius, somehow I don't think a ratty Star Wars T-shirt is going to fly. Dorcas, your pants are on backwards. I don't even know how you did that, but you did. Just—you know what, Black, transfigure your clothes into dark colors."

"What about you?" Dorcas objected. "You're wearing boring clothes. Don't you think you'd stand out in an earth-toned shirt and trousers?"

Sirius was busy reversibly transfiguring his and Dorcas's clothes, but he did mention, "Dorcas, Barty looks semi-respectable. You and I look like we rolled out of bed to do some sort of daring rescue stroke suicide mission."

"Right," Dorcas said. She watched as Sirius finished up with the transfiguration (she disapproved with how boring she looked, but Sirius wasn't in the mood to argue with her).

"All right. Let's go," Crouch said. "I'll apparate."

Moments later, the three of them were outside a run-down castle. Sirius dusted himself off. He had landed on his ass again, which was why he hated side-along apparating with people. His balance always sucked afterward. Crouch picked up a couple of rocks and transfigured them into masks. They were plainly designed, and Sirius was glad for the forethought. Crouch put a finger to his lips to make sure Dorcas didn't start on a rant, and the three of them entered the ruins. Sirius couldn't help but ask quietly, "Why in the hell is this place so stereotypical?"

Crouch glared at him and hissed, "It's the back-entrance. You want the normal entrance, and we have to get through at least two sets of guards. I don't think we want that." All of a sudden, he threw his arm out to get the other two to stop. Crouch walked over to a wall and, after nicking his finger, drew a symbol over the stones in blood. Sirius figured that was a good enough reason to keep the so-called back-entrance less heavily guarded. In way of explanation, Crouch said in a whisper, "I'm dead, so there's no reason to take me off the wards. It doesn't keep track of people entering and exiting anyhow."

Sirius and Dorcas followed him in. The area was fairly dark and distressing. Sirius wondered why anyone would want to be part of an organization that camped out in ruins like this before he remembered that the entirety of Slytherin lived in dungeons for five to seven years. Crouch led them through twists and turns in the hallways until they came across a barred door. There was a rather annoyed-looking guard sitting at a desk next to it. Sirius and Dorcas fell into step behind Crouch, who stood in front of the desk looking vaguely annoyed as well.

The guard apparently pretended not to see any of them, but Crouch was not going to budge. Sirius was starting to get antsy. Granted, he would have had no problem stupefying the kid and going on their merry way, but he knew that it was wiser to stupefy the minion on the way out. That way the alarm would sound behind them, and Sirius really did not want to think about what shape his brother was in.

Crouch cleared his throat, and the guard finally seemed to acknowledge his presence. "Yeah?" the guard demanded, clearly fed up with being pushed around.

"That's 'yeah', _sir_, young man," Crouch said as haughtily as possible. Sirius almost felt like he was having a flashback to being chewed out by Crouch's father. It was slightly disturbing. "I have need to examine the status of my allotted cells. Will you let me pass, or must I find another one of your superiors to verify my claim? Please keep in mind that these two idiots will never be properly trained if I don't find at least some time to do this."

Sirius thought Crouch was laying it on thick, but Dorcas seemed a little creeped out by the resemblance to Crouch's father. Sirius considered recommending desk-duty in the DMLE for Crouch if this was pulled off without a hitch. The guard sighed and looked at his roster. After a moment, he said, "Just make sure you don't go near the Lestranges' things. They actually have prisoners as of today." The guard glanced at Sirius, who was trying to contain his rage, and misinterpreted his feelings as fear. The idiot said, "Hey, rookie, you might want to consider a career change if you can't handle that."

Dorcas put a hand on Sirius's shoulder and gave Crouch a meaningful stare. Crouch smoothed over the situation by saying, "He's a weird one, but don't mind him. Out of curiosity, did anyone else happen to come by earlier? I had another rookie potentially coming."

Sirius was occasionally impressed by Crouch. Those times usually coincided with him remembering that Crouch was actually pretty damn smart. This was one of those times. If the gambit worked, he really would have to put a good word in for the man after the war.

The guard shrugged. "I only came on duty fifteen minutes ago. The guy I replaced is gone for the night, so I can't help you there," he said. Standing, the guard unlocked the door and ushered the three of them through. "Just knock when you're done."

"Thank you. I don't expect we'll be long," Crouch replied a little more courteously than he had been previously acting. When the door locked behind them, Crouch began walking in a random direction. Sirius followed along with Dorcas for a couple minutes, but eventually, Sirius hissed, "What the hell are you doing?"

"We can't just get your brother and then go, dumbass. The cells for those who aren't in the Inner Circle are all the way back here. We needed to make it sound like we walked back here," Crouch explained in the same tone of voice. After another couple of minutes, they stopped. Crouch glanced at the numbers on the doors and at the end of the hallway. He gestured for Sirius and Dorcas to follow him quietly. The three of them slowly made their way back to where they needed to go. After another couple of minutes, Barty stopped and turned to Sirius. "Check for any alert spell you can think of," he ordered.

Sirius didn't particularly appreciate the tone of voice, but he did what he was told. There was nothing, really. There was a heavy-duty alert spell a couple of cells over, but the few in front were clear. "We're all clear except for that one," Sirius replied, indicating the one he meant.

Crouch let out the breath Sirius hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thank Merlin," he said. At the confused looks of his friends, Crouch explained, "That's Bellatrix's special cell. Let's be glad Reg isn't in there and leave it at that, all right?" To Sirius, he said, "You'll all clear. We're not going to run into anyone in the next couple of minutes, so make this quick. Transfigure his clothes as soon as you can. Make a mask out of anything handy. We'll pretend he's the one the guard thought was scared, 'cause I doubt Reg is going to be in good shape."

Dorcas looked worried, but seeing as she had the key, she unlocked the door. Sirius stepped inside, and Dorcas hissed, "There's someone coming!" She glanced at Crouch and then said, "I'm going to lock the door. We'll be back as soon as we can." Sirius nodded, and the door shut with a soft clank.

There was barely any light in the room, but he could see his brother well enough. Sirius rushed over and knelt next to him. "Reg. Reg, wake up," Sirius murmured, figuring it wouldn't hurt to stay quiet. He didn't get a response, so he put a hand on his brother's shoulder to try and shake him awake. He didn't expect what he felt.

Why in the hell was he shaking so badly? Then Sirius remembered his wonderful disguise. He pulled off the stupid mask and hissed, "Princess Leia, get your ass up. Me, the Wookie, and Kenobi are here to rescue you. Solo's at home worried as hell."

At that, Regulus stopped shaking as much. "S—sirius? What—what are you doing here?" he asked, a little too confused for Sirius's liking.

"I transfigured one of my favorite shirts to save your sorry ass, but don't worry, you can thank me later, Reggie," Sirius said, choosing to ignore that Regulus wasn't reacting properly. He should have bitched at Sirius by now, even if he was badly wounded. Sirius, once again, resisted the urge to hunt down Bellatrix and kill her. He decided he would need to have a long conversation with Andromeda after this, however, because his self-control was wearing thin.

"You'll get caught," Regulus protested weakly. "You can't be here. Voldemort believed me when I said you didn't know anything. Now he'll know I lied."

"Fuck that, Reggie. You're more important to me than buying another week of time," Sirius reminded his brother. Why in the hell didn't the kid remember that? What in the hell was wrong with him? "How could you even suggest that?"

Regulus didn't reply and instead started shaking again. Sirius realized the kid was crying. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. This was not the time for Reggie to have a nervous breakdown. Sirius warned him quietly, "Look, Reg, Crouch got it all figured out. I have to disguise you, all right? That means transfiguration. I know you're normally well-dressed, but it would be a mite suspicious of us to drag out someone who looks suspiciously like the man who is supposed to be one of Lestrange's prisoners." Sirius glanced at the shiny thing on the floor and decided it would do nicely as a mask. When the transfiguration was complete, Sirius picked it up and commented, "Not my best work. Well, you get mine, then." Sirius was glad that he chose very basic clothes to transfigure for himself. He fixed up Reg's easily.

"Sirius…" Regulus began to protest.

Sirius ignored him and helped his brother stand. Regulus really wasn't steady on his feet, and Sirius was starting to become impatient waiting for Dorcas and Crouch. Thankfully, the door opened, and Barty and Dorcas managed to communicate that he needed to get the fuck out of there. Putting the weird-ass mask on himself, Sirius locked the door to the cell behind him and his brother, who indeed had the plain mask on. The four of them retraced their original steps through the cells. After ten minutes that seemed like forever, they finally reached the door to the block. Barty was about to knock on the door for them to be let out when it opened.

Sirius swore up, down, left, right, and center in his mind, and Regulus cringed. Crouch and Dorcas appeared unfazed, but the newcomer said, "Ah, I see you finally got your act together, Luthor. Pick a more normal time to do training next time around, would you?"

The man walked off, and the four of them managed to leave with no further incidents. The guard didn't even comment on them coming out of the cellblock with four people. He just nodded in their general direction as way of acknowledgement and then quickly went back about his business. Once they had left through the back-door and made their way out from the ruins, none of them could disapparate quickly enough, although Sirius was extra-careful not to accidentally side-along apparate his brother next to anything sharp.

As soon as they were all back in Sirius's apartment, Sirius undid all of the transfigurations, save the masks (which honestly might be useful again at some point). When he looked up, Sirius realized Crouch was on the point of hyperventilating, and Regulus was sitting on the couch and staring blankly at the wall. Unprompted, Crouch said nervously, "That man we ran into? That was Rudolphus."

Sirius didn't really care. He didn't like what he saw in his brother. Regulus had been unresponsive before, but this… this was something else. "Reggie? Reggie, what's wrong?"

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Sirius resists the urge to murder Bellatrix, and Barty and Dorcas get smashed.  
_


	56. Gonna Carry That Weight A Long Time

Sirius had been sitting in front of his brother for the past fifteen minutes, trying to coerce even one word out of him. He had barely been able to convince Regulus to move, and that had been to move to Sirius's bed. For all intents and purposes, Regulus was catatonic, and Sirius had no idea what to do. "C'mon, Reggie, say something. Please," Sirius implored him. Regulus had spoken earlier, but Sirius just didn't understand why his baby brother wasn't talking. He tried to think if Regulus had said anything earlier. Sirius could only remember something about Regulus saying he had convinced Voldemort that Sirius didn't know anything, but Sirius could take care of himself. Why would Regulus have been freaked out about that? There had to be more, right? Sirius repeated, "Please, Reggie, tell me what's wrong? I want to help."

Sirius waited another minute or two for any sign that Regulus even heard him, but Regulus continued to stare blankly at the wall. Unsure of what to do, Sirius remembered he should tell Vesta that Regulus was … physically all right, but he couldn't bring himself to move. It made more sense than anything to have done that immediately, but Sirius just couldn't leave his brother like this. He might not have had any idea what was wrong, but he felt paralyzed by the fear of what could happen when he was absent. "Reggie?" Sirius tried again, gathering the courage to move. "I… I'll be right back, okay? I—"

"Please don't go," Regulus interrupted quietly. He had finally stopped concentrating on the bloody wall and was looking at Sirius imploringly. They said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Sirius had always considered it a load of bullshit. Now, now he wished he had never heard the damned cliché, because what he saw in his brother's eyes he did not like one bit. The younger man felt the need to explain, "I don't want to be alone."

Sirius put his hand on his brother's shoulder and gently mentioned, "Your wife is worried sick, Reggie. Someone needs to tell her that you're safe."

"Dorcas left five minutes ago," Regulus said in a strangely flat manner. Then, what was left of the wall he had put up around himself crumpled like a piece of discarded paper and fell away. His breath hitched as he cried, "I didn't—I didn't want this to happen. Not again…"

Sirius had no idea what to do. His mind raced for answers but remained blank. It was like all sense had overthrown the last bastion of logic before it left. He glanced around the room, a little frantic, before he gave into staying as he was. Sirius knew he should be trying to reassure his brother, but he didn't even know what was bothering the younger man. There were no physical injuries, and this reaction was nothing like what Sirius had seen in regards to spells like the Cruciatus. Surely Regulus ignored everything Voldemort said, so what in the hell was wrong? Sirius decided to chance asking, "Reggie, what—what happened?"

Regulus looked like he was going to start hyperventilating and curled up even more under the blanket Sirius had thrown over him. "I'm fucking worthless. I don't—I don't know why she—why she even—" he broke off into incoherent sobbing.

Sirius was frozen for a moment as he realized at least _who_ had made his brother like this. Only Bellatrix had ever called Regulus worthless and made the insult stick. Glad he at least knew one thing he could do, Sirius said vehemently, "Reg. Reggie, listen to me. You are not worthless, you aren't weak, and there is no way in hell someone could call you a coward. Anyone who says you are is a liar. And your wife loves you, so stop thinking you aren't worth saving. You are. Do you understand? Bellatrix is full of shit, and you damn well know I wouldn't be saying any of this if I didn't mean it. Do you understand, Reggie?"

Unfortunately, Sirius's speech had made his brother start crying even harder, and Sirius started to feel like a failure again. However, this was not the time to throw himself a pity-party, not when Regulus was like this. Sirius knew he couldn't fix whatever was wrong, but he would be damned if he didn't try. He had to try more than anything, because he couldn't bear to watch his brother like this. He couldn't let him self-destruct again.

Regulus calmed slightly and said, "I told him—the Dark Lord—I—I told him that we destroyed the horcrux." Regulus was about to continue, but Sirius was not going to let his brother start thinking about work. Not right now.

"Reg, I don't care if you told him everything," Sirius reminded him. Unable to keep the emotion out of his voice, Sirius continued, "All that matters is that you're okay, all right? Don't you get that?" He only received a dull, blank look in return, so Sirius reiterated, "I don't give a fuck about the war, you idiot! You could have gotten yourself killed! Again! I don't even care that you put the damn war first right now! I'm just glad you're alive, damnit!"

Regulus stared at him with a confused, wounded look and asked, "…Why?"

Sirius searched his brother's expression to try to understand what he was being asked. Regulus couldn't actually be wondering why Sirius considered him more important than the war, could he? Right? Hesitantly, Sirius murmured, "Why do you think, Reg? You're my little brother, and I love you. It's my job to protect you, not the other way around."

Regulus could only look at him with this sad, guilt-ridden expression before he broke down again. "I'm sorry," he repeated over and over again whenever he had the chance.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for, Reggie," Sirius murmured, gently squeezing his brother's shoulder. "You've done nothing wrong. Whatever's happened, you might think it's your fault, but it's not. It's not. Whatever it is, it's not," Sirius continued reassuringly, his voice breaking somewhere in the middle. Oh, Merlin, now he was starting to lose it, too, but he couldn't just sit there and stay hard-hearted. There was something terribly wrong with his little brother, and Sirius had no idea how to fix it or at the very least dull the pain.

Regulus seemed to calm down a little, but Sirius started to wonder if the glassy look that replaced the pain in his brother's eyes was an improvement. Refusing to meet Sirius' eyes, Regulus stared at the wall behind him and murmured, "I couldn't stop her." After a moment, his face twisted in a grimace, and he moaned, "I barely even tried."

Sirius' mind went blank with rage when he realized what his brother had just told him. His patience was getting sorely fucking tested in regards to his bitch of a cousin. No—no, those words were too kind. _Far_ too kind. No, no, no, no, no. Bellatrix was going to die a painful, _painful_ death for what she had done, and Sirius would feel perfectly justified every fucking second of it. He might not be able to consider anything past the Cruciatus, but honestly, he would be happy if she were devoured alive by ants.

"I'm sorry," Regulus keened, what little control he had regained falling away again. That was when Sirius realized his mistake; Regulus thought Sirius was mad at him. He thought Sirius was angry _with him_. Not that Sirius wanted to murder Bellatrix in increasingly complex and bloody ways. No, nothing like that. No, Regulus thought Sirius was angry because of…

The blood drained from Sirius's face. He took a deep breath to calm himself and then murmured reassuringly, "Reggie, I'm not mad." However, the keening apology kept repeating, and Sirius begged his little brother, "Please don't apologize. Not for this. Reggie, it's not your fault." He brushed his brother's hair out of his eyes and continued, "C'mon, Reg. You shouldn't say you're sorry. This—this isn't your fault."

Regulus more or less ignored what Sirius said as he went into another mental tailspin. Sirius knew he couldn't say anything more to try and drag his brother out of that dark place, so Sirius just sat himself down on the bed, put his hand back on his brother's shoulder, and tried to wait out this round of crying. With a deep breath, Regulus asked, "You're really not mad at me?"

Sirius considered for a moment what to say before he replied honestly, "No, Reggie. I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad at you for anything, least of all _this_." He knew it was better for his brother if he did not even mention Bellatrix right now, even if it were in relation to how angry and parricidal Sirius felt at that moment. Hesitantly, well aware that his brother might shatter again at any moment, Sirius mentioned, "You said again. When…?" He trailed off, hoping that it was understood that if his little brother didn't want to answer the question, he didn't have to.

Regulus stared at his brother, seeming a bit dazed before he replied, ashamed, "When she caught me." Looking away from his brother, he continued, sounding even more disappointed in himself than he had before, "I—I wouldn't talk, so she tried—she thought it might work, breaking me like that, but she fucked up there." He stared at nothing and mentioned in a sing-song, "She never could take care of her toys…"

Sirius ignored the last comment. He did not need to hear his brother refer to himself like that. "And since then?" Sirius asked as calmly as he could.

Staring at the ceiling, Regulus guessed, "Ten? Ish? Only twice since she broke out; but, I lost count back then. I lost track of a lot of things then." The airy quality his voice took quite frankly scared Sirius. His little brother's sanity seemed to be unraveling before his eyes.

"Jesus Christ," Sirius breathed. "Reggie… I don't even know what to say…" What could he say? He had failed his baby brother so frequently and in so many things that he was past the point of forgiveness. What could he say? No apology would cut it, but Sirius had to say something. He had to say he was sorry. He was sorry. He hadn't even been able to protect his brother—the one he shared blood with. "Why didn't you say anything?"

The sudden change from distracted ambivalence to sharp resolve was like emotional whiplash. Unyielding, Regulus said, "Because you wouldn't have let me go."

Sirius blinked. After his emotions caught up with his brain, Sirius demanded, "Why did you even think it was necessary? For God's sake, even ignoring that evil, psychotic bitch of a cousin of ours, you knew at least half the Death Eaters wanted you dead!"

Regulus set his jaw and argued, "Because I had to. I had to at least attempt to convince Voldemort I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Otherwise, he would have moved the rest of the horcruxes." With a glare, Regulus demanded, "Do you have any idea how long it took me to figure out where those fucking things are? Do you have any idea how difficult it would be to find the rest of them if he chose to protect them?"

Sirius realized that the farther away their discussion went from the real issue, the less emotionally unstable Regulus was. There was only one thing to do, then. "I know how difficult it would have been, but if you had thought farther than your damned martyr complex for one minute, you would have realized that we could have just run after the last 'easy one' and snatched it before Voldemort could get his grubby paws on it again," Sirius shot back. He had to make Regulus angry. Angry at him, angry at anything, just not angry with himself.

Regulus, however, seemed to see right through what Sirius was doing, since he was about to make an angry retort before the words seemed to die in his throat. Looking as if he felt guilty, Regulus admitted, "You should be angry with me, Sirius. Not—not about—" Regulus closed his eyes and took a calming breath before he continued, "Not Bella. I—I was going to try to—"

Sirius did not need Regulus to finish the sentence. He knew what his brother couldn't say this time. With a grimace, Sirius shook his head and said, "Don't, Reg. I know. I understand. Azkaban may not have been anything like what you've been through, but I understand."

"I couldn't do it. They were going to torture me and then either kill me or hand me over to Bella, and I still couldn't do it," Regulus murmured, abruptly looking up at his brother. "I don't know why I couldn't… I had the chance—I could have run, and then some random Death Eater would have killed me out of habit, but I didn't run, and I couldn't… I don't know why…" Regulus shut his eyes and then added quietly, "But I promised Vesta I'd come back."

With a genuine smile, Sirius said, "I really owe her, then, don't I?" Contemplatively, Sirius murmured, "You know, you practically light up around her. She's been good for you, Reg. Fuck, you turned out best of the five of us. You know that, right? Andy still has that chip on her shoulder, but you just walked away. You know I'm proud of you, yeah?"

Regulus stared at Sirius before he asked, "You—you're proud of me?"

"Of course I am," Sirius replied, wishing he was a bit more bewildered, but he had started to realize that Regulus's abysmal self-esteem was just that: abysmal. "You're more brave than I am, Reg. You always have been. That's why I was so upset when you joined… well, when you joined the war. I was scared to death that you'd get yourself killed doing something damned stupid, the sort of action which, let's face it, is practically synonymous with bravery. And, no, I didn't think you really believed any of that bullshit; you knew better, and you acted better than that. And, you know what, sometimes I even think Mum and Dad taught us better."

Sirius's words had an unexpected effect; Regulus started crying again. This time, though, seemed different. It wasn't just because Regulus had decided that crying _on_ Sirius was preferable to curling up in a ball. Maybe Sirius was imagining things, but this time seemed to be a bit more cathartic. But all Sirius had said was that—had he only ever needed to say he was proud of him? Had Regulus really been hung up all these years thinking _Sirius_ thought badly of him? Like that? Sirius had been disappointed when Regulus had joined the Death Eaters, but he knew even then that Bellatrix had forced him (and Bellatrix had better hope it was not via what were apparently her usual methods). Christ, Regulus had almost become addicted to morphine because he had been constantly in trouble with the Death Eaters, but that had meant he didn't actually believe. Now, in light of everything, Sirius had no idea how his little brother had been able to do what he did. Sirius couldn't have pulled off what Regulus had even in his wildest dreams. Regulus had chosen the more difficult route and succeeded at what he set out to do; Sirius took the easier path and managed to fuck everything up. The only thing he had done right was battle. That was all he was good for. War.

Coming back to Earth, Sirius realized his brother had fallen asleep. Sirius did not blame the kid; after all, he probably hadn't slept since the prior morning. Gently, Sirius made sure he extricated himself from his position on the bed without waking his brother. Before he left the room, he pulled the blankets up over the younger man's shoulders. Regulus had always run a little cold.

With a sigh, Sirius turned the lights off and left the room.

* * *

A couple hours later, Sirius was sitting in a chair, drinking tea, and staring aimlessly out the window. Vesta had left only moments before. She had been more or less devastated when she had seen her husband. The two of them had argued after a while, but Sirius hadn't listened in and had instead opted for spacing out. In any case, Regulus was asleep again.

Sirius vaguely wondered where Dorcas had gone, but he figured he was probably better off not knowing. She and Crouch were probably off doing …_things_, and Sirius emphatically did not want to know. That, or both had been true to form and gone drinking. It didn't really matter anyway. Sirius glanced down at his toast. He knew he should finish it, but he didn't really have an appetite. Would Regulus want anything to eat when he woke up?

Sirius sighed and resumed aimlessly staring out the window.

His peace was disturbed when there was a knock on the door, but Sirius ignored it. However, the caller was persistent and kept knocking on the door. Sirius continued to ignore it; after all, eventually they would give up and go away. After a couple minutes of knocking, it finally stopped, but instead said person decided to be incredibly rude and apparate into Sirius's apartment. Not even turning around, he said, "Hello, Narcissa."

"Why didn't you answer the door, you jackass?" Narcissa demanded. "Do you have any idea how—Wait one moment. When did you restructure your wards to let me in?"

Sirius shrugged. "Couple months ago. Figured you wouldn't be used as an assassin, and, well, clearly I need more drama in my life," he replied in a manner more disinterested than dry.

Narcissa didn't speak for a moment, but Sirius's luck would not hold out enough for her to leave. Narcissa walked over to the window out of which Sirius was staring aimlessly and put herself in his line of sight so he couldn't ignore her. "You're acting childish," the Queen of the Passive-Aggressive and Pots-Calling-Kettles-Black declared.

"I thought that was you," Sirius snarked before he set his tea down next to the cold toast. Giving in to Narcissa's attempts to get his attention but too tired to deal with any of her normal crap, Sirius asked, "What do you want, Narcissa?"

At that moment, he realized how worried she looked. Narcissa put up a very effective façade, but she was letting her guard down or making it seem like she was letting her guard down. That meant she really wanted him to tell her what she wanted. Biting her lip, Narcissa took a deep breath and then, afraid of the reply she would receive, implored, "Please tell me Regulus is all right. Please tell me he didn't go." Sirius was surprised to notice that Narcissa, the Ice Queen herself, was on the verge of tears. "Bella… She's—she said she was going to kill him, so please tell me he's all right."

Thrown off his balance, Sirius scrambled for words before he answered, "Regulus is … he's fine. Physically, at least." He paused and figured he should tell her a bit more. "He went to the meeting, but Dorcas and I brought him back a few hours ago."

Narcissa hugged him, and Sirius had to wonder what had happened to make her so touchy-feely. It was like his life had been flipped and turned upside down in the past twenty-four hours. "Um, Narcissa?" Sirius said. "Why are we making physical contact?"

Narcissa glared at him and replied, "Because I am upset and you told me effectively what I wanted to hear." Sirius was glad she was acting arch again; he would not have been able to deal with a weepy Narcissa. The concept was dubious at best, and Sirius was already barely hanging on to his calm. That would have sent him over the edge. Taking a step back, Narcissa adopted her usual why-should-I-care-about-you stance and inspected her nails before inquiring in a business-like manner, "So. You said Regulus is fine physically. Does that mean he's sleeping off the aftereffects of multiple Cruciatus curses and the like? Or has Bella taken to chipping away at his sense of worth again?"

"She raped him."

Narcissa could only stare open-mouthed at Sirius, who had picked his tea up again and was swirling the tealeaves around in the cup. When she could form words, she demanded, "What do you mean, Sirius? This isn't funny."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Sirius asked in turn, angrier than he really should have been. Narcisssa had the right to be stunned and confused. She knew Bellatrix was a monster—all of them did—but this?

"But… are you sure?" Narcissa asked in disbelief.

Sirius nodded with a somber expression. He wished it weren't true, but it was.

Narcissa sat down on the couch, trying to comprehend what she had been told. Sirius finished his toast and then went back to staring aimlessly out the window. Eventually, Narcissa did speak up again. "Do you know why?" she asked, trying to understand. Sirius's shrug made her suggest quietly, "It could be a twisted version of revenge…" Sirius glanced over at her at that, so she explained, "You remember when she and Rudolphus were trying to have children."

"Yeah. Their kid was stillborn. So what?" Sirius demanded.

"The child wasn't stillborn. Something happened; I don't know what. But, Bellatrix wouldn't have her son anywhere near her; she told Rudolphus to—to kill their child," Narcissa explained. She seemed hesitant to continue, but she added, "When Bella came to get the truth from me about Regulus, she said that it wasn't fair that—that he was allowed to be happy when he had done everything 'wrong' and she suffered even though she had done everything 'right'."

Sirius stared at his cousin. Her explanation made sense. Everything fit, except for one thing. Feeling guilty that he was going to shoot her explanation down, Sirius informed Narcissa, "But that doesn't explain what she did during the first war."

"She can't have—" Narcissa began, but she seemed to think better of what she was about to say. Looking down at her hands, she murmured, "You don't think she did this to get back at you, do you think? Her methods are too extreme for even your imagined crimes, although…" She shook her head before she said, "No. There is no excuse."

Sirius grimaced. With a sigh, he mentioned, "I know you want to see him, Narcissa, but I think he's asleep again. His wife left a short time before you arrived."

"His wife?" Narcissa repeated. She looked contemplative for a moment before she asked, "How did she react?" Sirius knew that Narcissa wanted to know how blind they really were.

"Like this was par for the course," Sirius replied bitterly. Trying to tamp down on his anger, he said, "She's had to deal with all of his nightmares for the past fifteen years, Narcissa. I don't think she would have put it past Bellatrix to give a repeat performance."

"She loves him doesn't she? Vesta?" Narcissa asked, again bizarrely concerned.

Sirius wondered why she would worry that Regulus would have married someone who didn't love him. "Of course she does," Sirius answered. "Why are you asking me that right now? It's not exactly the best time to vet my brother's choice in a spouse."

"It's not that, Sirius," Narcissa defended herself. Sighing, she explained, "He just seemed so unhappy the last time I saw him, and when he talked about her… You know how he gets. He loves 'not wisely but too well'." She grimaced and said, "If you want me to leave, Sirius, I'll go. I just wanted to make sure Bellatrix hadn't killed Regulus."

Sirius knew he would regret what he was about to suggest, but he suggested it anyway: "Why don't you go in and talk to him? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."

Narcissa stared at him like he was the one that had morphed into a fluorescent, radioactive lizard, but her expression quickly melted into a grateful one. "Thank you."

Sirius murmured, "You're welcome," as she headed into Sirius's bedroom. After a moment, he heard voices, so he could only assume that Regulus was awake again. Sirius wondered for a moment how much of the conversation his brother had overheard, but then he realized he didn't care. He and Narcissa hadn't been talking about much anything. Since Sirius's tea was gone, he made himself a new cup and some new buttered toast. Then, he resumed his vigil, staring aimlessly out the window.

* * *

Dorcas had a problem. Well, she had multiple problems. The first and foremost of which was how to keep her best friend from hunting down his cousin and killing her. Another was figuring out the nature of whatever she was doing with the blond man sitting next to her at the bar. Those, however, were currently in the abstract and also the reason she had this problem. She elbowed her partner in the ribs and demanded, "Martini, gin and tonic, or straight up vodka?"

"I'm not carrying you back to Sirius's apartment, Meadowes," Barty snapped, annoyed at her assault on his person. He went back to drinking his girly drink.

"You are useless," Dorcas declared and ordered all three. Her most pressing problem solved, she now had to think about the rest of them. Well, the easiest to deal with was the relationship conversation, but Dorcas was curious how far she had to wait until Barty initiated it. Of course, if she didn't tackle that problem, she would have to discuss the Black brothers, and after she had retrieved Vesta and returned to the apartment, Sirius had honest-to-God scared her.

Barty grew tired of the strained silence first and demanded, "So, what exactly is going on between us, Meadowes?" Dorcas could have kissed him for picking the less disturbing topic. On a related note, Narcissa consequently owed her money. Lots of money.

Dorcas twirled her newly arrived vodka shot around on the bar while thinking. She didn't really feel anything for Barty, and she doubted that he felt anything for her. So it was all really just an any-port-in-the-storm thing, right? Yeah. He was a spaz and an ex-Death Eater to boot. With a frown, she realized, "There isn't a term for this yet, is there? We're having sex, but there's not really emotion connected with it. You have any ideas for a phrase?"

Barty considered and reported, "Not really. We're the only people we can booty-call. Why would there be a name for a relationship like that? We're not friends with sex added, and we certainly aren't lovers. You're way too rough for that—"

"You like that," Dorcas pointed out.

"—Yeah, that's beside the point, but my point was that there's not a way to describe that. 'Fucking' really does describe our relationship in sum," Barty explained. Thoughtfully, he continued, "I suppose we could be called 'fuckers'."

"Well, Barty, we already are fuckers. I think we need to come up with a better title for ourselves. Otherwise, there will be no end to the puns. Trust me. Sirius still thinks making puns out of his name is hilarious. So does Remus," Dorcas informed him matter-of-factly. She had made the latter discovery the other week when she had tagged along for a Get-Sirius-Out-Of-His-Apartment Night. Dorcas had forgotten how hilarious Remus was when drunk. He adopted a brogue and everything. Also fell off his chair occasionally. Good times…

"Do we really need to come up with a name for it?" Barty inquired, already tired of the topic. "It's like we're sharing a television, but instead it's an orgasm."

"I can't believe you just compared sex to the BBC," Dorcas stated, offended that her prowess in bed was reduced to just the level of excitement gained by watching television.

"Speaking of this, we should probably get some protection," Barty mentioned, bizarrely deciding to turn the conversation domestic.

Dorcas stared at him, waiting for him to wonder why she was staring. He missed this message, so she clarified, "I've been taking a potion, dumbass. Didn't want what happened last time to happen again." _That_ caught Barty's attention.

"Last time? Do you mean that time I managed to escape from my father to grab a drink after my mother died? You—didn't Narcissa let you out or something?" Barty tried to remember. Dorcas figured his memory was a bit fuzzy. He had been pretty damn smashed, but so had she, which was probably why they ended up having sex in the first place. She had still thought that he was more than a little flaming. Also, there was the opposite sides of the war thing.

"Yes, she let me out," Dorcas admitted. She took a long drink from her gin and tonic and explained, "I thought I had made a break for it until I realized that I didn't really want to leave. We grew up preparing for that war, and when it was over, there was nothing for me to do. I was shite at all that cop stuff. I'm no detective; I'm a soldier. So, I didn't really care that I was 'caught' the next morning." With a grimace, Dorcas mentioned, "That said, don't worry. You don't have any STDs, if you were worrying."

"I wasn't. I think I'd have noticed in the intervening decade and a half," Barty replied sarcastically. "Then why the hell—You _weren't_…"

Dorcas rolled her eyes. "Such touching concern," she quipped. "If it were true, I would consider the occurrence parthenogenesis, as no such creature was meant to see the light of day. Meaning, of course, I refer to the alcohol-induced sex romp happening without contraceptives."

"Oh." Barty fell silent again.

Dorcas looked at the empty gin and tonic and the empty vodka shot. Now there was only the martini left. The big drink. The one with the most alcohol. With a sigh, she asked, "What do you want to talk about?"

Barty turned to stare at her. He paused before he demanded, "Why are you so insistent that we don't talk about last night?" He wasn't angry, just confused by her behavior.

Dorcas drank the entirety of her martini. When she was done, she said, "It was this morning, Sirius had murder in his eyes, and Regulus is creepily non-responsive."

After ordering another glass, Barty knocked back the rest of his whiskey. With a deep breath, he began, "Remember when Regulus showed up when we were drinking? You made the beer bottle tower and were wandering around in your underwear?"

"That scan I did was b.s.," Dorcas muttered. "Made no fuckin' sense."

"Bellatrix wanted to keep him alive, you know," Barty murmured, not looking at Dorcas. He was fiddling with the empty glass of whiskey. "Back then, I mean. She wanted to keep him, not kill him. I—I teamed up with Rudolphus to convince Voldemort that he needed to die."

Dorcas decided to listen intently. All of this information was new. She waited for Barty to continue his speech. Also, the mention of Rudolphus made her remember what Barty had said when they apparated into Sirius's apartment: Rudolphus had been the one that had let them pass on their way out of the cellblock. If Dorcas wasn't too drunk when Barty was finished with story-time, she'd inquire more deeply. "Long story short, those readings? The ones you say you misinterpreted? You probably didn't," Barty mentioned. "Rudolphus could handle Bellatrix lusting after Voldemort, but there was no way in hell he would stand for her keeping a pet."

Dorcas looked up sharply and realized, "That's why Rudolphus let us pass this morning, isn't it? Jesus Christ, that's twisted."

"You have no bloody idea," Barty muttered as he started on his new glass of whiskey. "Bellatrix treated Reg like her own personal plaything. I managed to sneak in a couple healing spells, especially for that mess she made of his ankle. I'm frankly surprised he can still walk."

"So your thinking was that he'd be better dead than in pain?" Dorcas surmised.

"No," Barty corrected. "He was best out of Bellatrix's reach. So I tried to get him there."

Dorcas sighed and decided to pay her tab. "This shit is getting too depressing," she declared. "You want to go catch a movie and hope Sirius isn't still homicidal when it's over?"

Barty considered his whiskey, downed the rest of it, and agreed, "That is a brilliant idea. I don't think we're drunk enough to do anything else right now."

"Crouch, that made no sense," Dorcas said as she unsteadily stood. Okay, so she was likely going to faceplant before they left the bar, but that was irrelevant.

"I don't even remember what I was trying to say, Meadowes, so let's go catch some movie to sober ourselves up or something. Then we can go make sure we keep the brothers Grimm from doing anything stupid, like trying to kill Bellatrix or any of the stupid shit Regulus does when he's depressed," Barty rambled before paying his tab. The bartender was judging the both of them; it was only noon, and they were more or less shitfaced. Both Dorcas and Barty ignored the judging stare of the bartender and made their way out onto the street.

"We can cast a sobering spell, you know," Dorcas mentioned reasonably.

"But that means we get stuck in a room with Sirius all simmering ball of rage-like sooner. Also, we don't know what Regulus is up to. He's likely still curled up in bed, but you know Narcissa's going to come running, all freaked out, once she hears that Bellatrix caught him," Barty summarized. Dorcas started to see the wisdom in her very drunk fuck-buddy. Ooh, that was a good name for what they were. They were buddies, and they fucked. Thus, fuck-buddies! She was a genius. "And 'is wife went straight to see him, hence why we left in the first place, 'cause Sirius was doing the broody I'm-wandering-a-moor-in-my-mind thing. Except he's staring out a window with a kinda frightening intensity."

"I notished," Dorcas acknowledged, leaning against Barty for support. Alas, that meant they slowly drifted in the direction that Dorcas was leaning as they walked down the street. They were probably too old for this sort of behavior, but Dorcas didn't really give a rat's ass.

"Yeah. So, we need to get Sirius to calm the fuck down and Regulus to … eh, he can stay curled up in a ball," Barty said, listing the things they needed to do. He yawned and then asked, "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

Dorcas considered the question. "Yesterday morning, 9 A.M.," she reported.

"Ya know what would be _really _useful _and_ relevant to our interests? _Sleep,_" Barty proposed. "If we sleep, we get sober. If we sleep, we don't deal with Sirius for a while. If we sleep, we get awake. I see no bad here."

"But I'm Sirius's flatmate," Dorcas whined. "We can't sneak past him."

"I'm living in that apartment Regulus was living in before he said ta hell with it," Barty reminded her. "The bed is really soft…"

"That should not sound as good as it does," Dorcas declared.

Barty realized the same thing.

Ten minutes later, they were both passed out—after Dorcas had wisely cast the sobering charm—on the bed in Barty's flat.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Plotting against Umbridge and Sirius loses patience._


	57. Sigh No More

"Why are _you_ here?" Gemma demanded, annoyed at the interruption of her quite frankly bizarre conversation with the alien Ravenclaw.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Why do you think I'm here? You knew I was coming out for Spring Break, just like I always do. You're such a spaz, Gemma," he informed his sister. They were eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and Peter was currently disguised in Gryffindor colors. He was planning on infiltrating Slytherin in the afternoon, but McGoogles was watching him with an almost paranoid intensity. Depending upon his proximity to the end of the table, the intensity increased. Peter really wondered what the dependent variable was, because there was nothing to do with the literal end of the table that would increase his chances of causing havoc.

Gemma glared at her brother and informed him haughtily, "Well, you've missed, like, _everything_. Macha was a Nazi for a while, and Leo was doing his Switzerland thing, but Uncle Terry thankfully straightened everything out after Mr. Black got a hold of him on the phone." She then turned away from him and resumed eating her pancakes. Why was she so overdramatic?

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. Wait. "Mr. Black"? Really? Maybe she was just being subtle? Peter considered his sister for a moment and then considered how he would have reacted in the same situation. No, she was absolutely clueless. Why had Peter thought she would have reacted differently? However, the Ravenclaw invader seemed to be thinking the same thing. Interesting. Of course, it still took Peter a moment to parse the content of Gemma's declaration. "_What?_" Peter demanded a bit louder than intended. "What do you mean, Macha was a Nazi?"

The Ravenclaw tilted her head to the side and "explained", "The war goddess considered the Amazing Bolting Leopard to be Nazgûl, which in turn led Alphecca to act like Orion's dog, which in turn led the war goddess to self-inflict the powers of Kali upon herself, which led Leo to be Switzerland and seek parental guidance."

Peter blinked. "How do you make more sense than Gemma?" he wondered, slightly disturbed. "You had the mother of all run-on sentences, and the only proper name you used was 'Leo'. What the hell?" Peter decided that McGoogles clearly hadn't wanted him to run into the Ravenclaw, because this craziness was beyond the pale. Also, this girl was obviously Luna.

Luna smiled like the Cheshire Cat and then inquired, "How did you evade the swamps?" As if she had her head in the clouds, she explained conspiratorially, "We still have issues. Also, beware the Bubbles of Doom. I think they are replicating."

"I was wondering about that," Peter admitted. He was having fun adventuring through the obstacle course-like swamps. There were even alligators! "Also, why is there a pink-clad demon roaming the halls? She gave me detention for no particular reason."

Gemma was immediately interested and slipped back into troublemaker mode. Peter was starting to get the feeling she turned that off when she was at school. A pity. Eager to hear what had happened, she asked, "What did you do? Did you hex her? Please tell me you hexed her!"

"No… I just exclaimed, 'Get back, foul hellbeast!' after she more or less jumped out from nowhere. Then I ran when I realized I'd pissed off the new DADA teacher," Peter replied. All that pink… He decided that he was scarred for life. _Scarred for life_.

Gemma's face fell and regretted to inform her brother, "No. Snape's teaching right now. Mr. Black couldn't even hold on to the job for more than half the year. Umbridge is the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. There's even a school group dedicated to making her life hell."

Peter was intrigued. "What's it called, how do I join it, and how much trouble can I reasonably expect to create while here?" he asked, now on a mission.

"Well, if we can successfully pin the blame on the Weasley twins, I'd say you can go for unbridled chaos," Gemma reported. She lowered her voice and continued, "And it's called the DA. Luna and I are a part of it, but we'll have to take you to our leader."

A redheaded girl sat down opposite Gemma and Luna. She chirped, "Whatcha talking about?" Then she did a double-take when she saw Peter. "And who are you? I know for sure that you're not a Gryffindor."

Annoyed at life (or something else suitably dramatic), Gemma replied in a monotone, "This is my idiot brother. His name is Peter. Please don't feed the animal." Peter pretended to be offended, and Luna snuck him some bacon.

"Oh," the redhead said, still a little taken aback by whatever she had seen. Did Peter's hair look weird or something? No—his hair couldn't look weird. His hair was perfect, as usual. Maybe he had something stuck in his teeth? Eh, that was probably it.

Oh, look at McGoogles. "Hey, Gemma, do you know why McGoogles looks even more freaked out than usual?" Peter asked, no longer able to contain his curiosity. "It's like someone dumped her in a bucket of water while she was in cat form and is residually freaked out."

The redhead seemed unsurprised while Gemma mentioned, "She's still a little tense from everything the Weasley Twins did, so I wouldn't be surprised if she's a bit more paranoid about you wreaking havoc. Oh, and no screwing with Snape this time. He's actually being niceish."

"Did you just say 'McGoogles'?" the redhead finally asked. She had likely been working up to asking. After all, Peter's method of referring to the teachers disturbed most students at this very fine institution of learning.

"Yes," Peter replied nonchalantly. "So. You know about this DA thing? Her Moonliness and the Sibling said they'd take me to their leader, but somehow I don't think half that equation actually will. I'm looking at you, Gemma."

"Why do you have to be such a—" the Sibling began angrily.

"The son of Skywalker has become a Jedi," Luna commented. Peter laughed at that. Luna seemed pleased with herself. "And the Kwisatz Haderach is amused that he is amused."

"Then clearly the Kwisatz Haderach and the son of Skywalker need to recruit an Iowan to complete our trinity," Peter added. Luna nodded sagely. "Do you suggest anyone?"

"A deer," Luna replied. The redhead and Gemma could only stare at the two of them in mounting confusion. "The King of the Forest is the one for whom they search. And we need Glue, but Glue can be acquired in many ways. I suggest either Ginny's brother or Hermione." Luna considered for a moment before she corrected, "No. Both. Both is good. Both is best."

The redhead then interjected, "Okay, Luna, please speak English. I see he's not going to stop speaking Geek unless you speak plainly, so _please_ tell me why these two people you're talking about are recruiting my brother and/or Hermione."

Oh, so the redhead was Ginny. Interesting. Luna spoke first: "Gemma's brother Peter and I are going to seek the aid of Harry, Ron, and Hermione to do epic things."

"The Pink One must be stopped. Does she have a Ring of Power, or do we not have to recruit a Fellowship to toss some bling into the Fires of Mount Doom?" Peter inquired gravely.

"I think she has a portrait," Luna surmised with equal solemnity.

Gemma hid her face behind her hands, and Ginny said, "Oh-kay… Well, first, Gemma, I am so sorry. I feel your pain. Second, the three of them are sitting at the end of the table."

"Awesome!" Peter exclaimed and stood abruptly. Gemma grabbed him and dragged him down before he could march over to the three and demand entry into the Extra Secret Society. "What was that for? Jeez, Gemma. You don't have to be so paranoid. You can just say I'm your distant cousin or something. Practically no one knows we're even related."

"That is not the point!" Gemma argued. "You can't just go up to the three of them and declare that you're joining their secret society!"

"Why not?" Peter demanded. It was a completely valid question.

Gemma looked to Luna and Ginny for help. Luna wasn't contributing anything to the argument, and Ginny seemed to be perfectly fine with how things were turning out. Gemma tried doing puppy-dog eyes to recruit their help, but it failed miserably.

"And that's proof that I can just walk over and talk to them," Peter declared before he stood and made a beeline for the three Gryffindors. (He didn't hear her say it, but Ginny did inquire of Gemma if her brother realized Harry was Harry Potter. Gemma indicated that he didn't and hid under the table in shame.) The three fifth-years stared at Peter when he stopped in front of them. The redhead (Ron, he assumed) had frozen in place while eating an omelet, and Hermione was clearly trying to school her emotions to be neutral. Harry just stared at Peter, wondering what the fuck he was doing. "So I heard you hate Umbridge. I do, too. Also, I don't go here and am thus immune to her powers. How can I help?" Peter said with a lazy grin.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, unreasonably suspicious.

"I'm Peter. Professor Vector's my mum," he explained. "I would prefer to strike while the iron's still hot, especially since we can suitably blame the dearly departed pranksters responsible for the hallway obstacle courses for anything we do for the next week or so."

Hermione was starting to go the way of Ron, but Harry seemed intrigued. "What were you planning on doing? More pranks? What's there left to do?" Harry pointed out.

"There's always more to do," Peter reminded him. Maybe he could rip off the pranks that were pulled off by (apparently) his father and his father's best friends. Uncle Terry had told him about quite a few of them over the years. "I already have a few ideas."

Harry seemed to sober a bit and mentioned, "We can't do anything that would be dangerous or overly malicious, but I—at least—would gladly help you if you were able to figure something like that out."

"Two words: 'carnivorous mistletoe'," Peter said, emphasizing the words with hand motions. Harry grinned diabolically at that, and there was a clatter at the teacher's table. Peter turned around. Wow. McGoogles had reached critical paranoia, but Snape looked like he and Harry were Godzilla and Mothra doing battle over Tokyo. Peter was unaware that Snape could turn that color. "What the hell's with Snape-a-doodle? You know anything? He seems a bit more distressed than normal," Peter asked the three older teenagers.

"I … don't know," Harry replied, equally confused. A thought striking him, he suggested, "Maybe Umbridge made him cut up the DADA curriculum more."

"I think it's the fact that the two of you were interacting and plotting," Hermione said.

Peter and Harry stared at her with near identical what-the-hell looks. Ron looked at Hermoine like she was crazy then at Peter and Harry like they were crazy. Finally, after repeating that a couple times, Ron threw his hands up in the air and declared, "That's it! Harry, why must you be selectively observant? Hermione, this is what happens when I get night patrols! And you! If you're uncle's that spaz Sirius apparently tries to keep out of trouble, then that's why Snape's freaking out! Because you and Harry are in the same room, plotting, and grinning diabolically about it!" With a frustrated exclamation, Ron stormed off.

Peter blinked and then realized, "O-oh. You're Harry _Potter_. Well, that explains everything." McGoogles broke the limit on the paranoia meter, but instead of going nuclear on Peter, she walked over to Snape and attempted to keep him from attempting murder, premeditated and otherwise. Peter wondered if he and Harry were premeditated victims or spontaneous victims, because he had a feeling that his father was _definitely_ premeditated. Speaking of Harry, though, he looked confused; people normally dropped onto the ground and worshiped the ground he walked on, Peter figured, so Harry was well within his rights to be confused about Peter's response of '_oh_, you're my dad's best friend's kid'. Peter considered keeping his mouth shut about that. Gemma probably would flip a shit if he told her, so he would have to swear these three to secrecy. Then again, this was the perfect opportunity to tell Harry. His father would likely flip out, too, but his mom would not be very happy with him. Peter realized what was really important in this situation and explained to the confused Harry, "Sirius is my dad, so it makes sense that Snape-a-doodle would throw a shit-fit."

Hermione sighed, likely frustrated by the immaturity. Harry just stared at Peter. He blinked once or twice, looked down at the table, and considered what Peter had said. Coming to a favorable conclusion, Harry declared, "Yeah, that makes sense. You look a lot like your dad. And your uncle." Taking the opportunity to ask a question he figured Peter would be able to answer, Harry subtly inquired, "So, is your uncle your uncle or…?"

"Yes, Uncle Terry served the Empire. But he realized Palpatine was a douchenozzle very quickly," Peter reassured Harry. "Seriously. He freaked out _so_ bad when I realized. Of course, then I ended up getting an unedited account of some of the crazy shit that went down when our parents were in school. Your dad _really_ liked carnivorous mistletoe. Like, _really_ liked it."

"Ha!" Harry exclaimed. "I told you, Hermione!" Hermione seemed to be nursing a migraine, what with her hands covering her face and the ignoring of Harry.

At that point, Ron having calmed down returned to the fray. Turning to Peter, he asked flat-out, "Could you tell your parents that they really need to learn the purpose of A) rooms, B) locking doors, and C) soundproofing? Thank you."

Peter stared at Ron in horror, but Harry said what Peter was thinking first, "OH GOD RON THE MENTAL IMAGES WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SAY THAT." Peter had even thought the words in caps-lock, although he had followed what Harry had said with a good number of four-letter words, their verb forms, and their different variations.

Hermione had given up on life, but she looked up to request, "Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not tell me why you've added soundproofing to the list."

At that moment, Peter realized that his mom was standing behind him, looking somewhat exasperated. He put on an innocent look and chirped, "Hi, Mom!" He hugged her for full effect.

"Peter, I believe I told you to not give Professor McGonagall a heart-attack? And not to antagonize Snape?" his mom reminded him, definitely exasperated.

Peter looked up and protested innocently, "I was just making friends!"

"Whatever you say, kid. Frankly, I don't believe you."

"Uncle Terry trained me well."

"That he did, young grasshopper. Now go find your sister."

"Okay," Peter replied cheerfully. Mission accomplished. No punishment for him. Peter waved goodbye at the three shell-shocked fifth-years who were understandably terrified that their teacher had heard them talking about … things. Peter was not going to think about it.

"You still have to apologize to them," his mother reminded him as he began to skedaddle. She was pure evil sometimes. Apologizing to McGoogles would be easy. Peter actually liked her. Apologizing to Snape would be slightly more difficult. Oh, well, he would just have to equip himself properly for the quest. Now, where had he left his sword?

(Professor Vector then turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and said, "I'll take what you said into consideration next time, Mr. Weasley, but I do suggest you request a different patrol." With a bright smile, she added, "Have a lovely rest of the day!" The three were frozen in place. Ginny found them like this and promptly turned her brother's hair pink.)

* * *

Sirius was rudely awoken from his nap on the sofa when his brother threw his coat at him. He managed to furthermore fall off the couch. "Fuck, Reg, what the hell?" he demanded.

Looking impatient, Regulus was standing at the end of the couch, cleaned up from earlier. "We're going to go steal the next horcrux, Sirius," Regulus explained. He looked ridiculous with his hair slicked back. If the brat had used Sirius's shampoo…

"Right now?" Sirius whined before realizing how screwy the situation was. He was the one dragging his feet, and Regulus was all gung ho to do things despite the fact that Voldemort had beaten the shit out of him the night before. Also, Bellatrix. Sirius grimaced and said, "Are you sure you're up for that? I mean—"

"I'm fine," Regulus said crossly. "Now get up. I want to get this done before dark."

Sirius stood and was about to ask if Regulus really felt all right, but Regulus didn't seem to be in a discussing things mood. Shrugging his coat on, Sirius said, "Fine. Whatever. Where are we going? Please tell me this isn't likely to be infested with Death Eaters."

"It's not. You have the sword?" Regulus asked, still deadly serious.

Sirius walked over to the closet and grabbed the sword. "I do now," he replied, a little annoyed by Regulus's lack of affect. He ended up being even more annoyed when Regulus grabbed his arm and apparated the two of them to the middle of nowhere. On the bright side, at least Sirius didn't fall on his ass. "What the fuck, Reg? A little warning would have been nice!" Sirius protested, seriously annoyed.

Regulus wasn't listening to him and marched on ahead. Sirius angrily stomped after him. Bloody idiot should be glad Sirius wasn't thinking about using the bloody sword on him. Finally, Regulus stopped in front of a degraded hovel. He explained, "We're looking for a ring—this is where Voldemort's mother lived for most of her life."

"Are you going to stop treating me like dirt, Regulus?" Sirius demanded. He was not going to take one more step unless his brother decided to act like a human being. "I'm not going any further until you explain yourself."

Regulus took a deep breath, but he kept his back turned to his brother, who had stopped behind him. Looking down at the ground, he murmured, "Can we just get the ring? Please?"

"No. We can't just get the ring. What the hell is with you? I understand that you're not … well, but this is not the way to get my sympathy, Regulus. In fact, I'm actually kind of pissed at you right now," Sirius snapped. "One minute you're freaking catatonic, and now you're hellbent on doing the shit that got you stuck in this mess in the first place. I deserve an explanation!"

Regulus glanced at Sirius before he simply walked into the hovel. Sirius glared at the spot his brother had been for all of ten seconds before he followed the damned infuriating man. The place looked even worse on the inside, which Sirius hadn't figured would be possible. He looked up and wished he hadn't. The roof did not seem all that stable.

"It's in the fireplace," Regulus mentioned quietly, startling Sirius. He was sitting on a really unstable-looking table in front of said fireplace and looked somewhat lost. No. Sirius was not going to just forgive him. Regulus was going to apologize before Sirius forgave him this time. "I can't break these wards. I'm not strong enough."

Sirius almost called bullshit. Regulus was more than powerful enough to rip through wards like those, but Sirius realized why he might not have been. The illness, combined with whatever torture Voldemort had put him through, had likely resulted in his body sapping away any magic it could to heal itself. "Then maybe you shouldn't have been so careless with your health," Sirius said cuttingly.

Regulus didn't even flinch. He just sat there and accepted the abuse. "Would you _please_ break the wards?" he asked, still not looking toward his brother. "I don't want to stay here."

"Why? Because the ambiance is wrong? Because the roof looks like it's about to cave in? Or is it because you can't bloody stand company right now, because that's what it feels like, so I've no idea why you dragged me along on this stupid trip," Sirius spat.

Regulus seemed as if he was doing his best to simply blend into the background, but he did not physically react to Sirius's words. All he did was say, "No. I don't know when Voldemort would move it, and I do not want to be here when he arrives."

Sirius felt a rush of anger and shouted, "Regulus, if you were so fucking concerned about the bloody horcruxes, then why didn't you just disappear instead of going to that damn meeting? I could have damn well picked the fucking things up myself, and we'd all be square, but _no_, you had to go and get yourself fucking caught and probably also slated for execution before going all fucking silent on me. What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell didn't you fucking ask for help? Jesus Christ, you could have fucking said something yesterday. We could have done this then, and you could have skipped the torture and gone straight to passing out in bed!"

Regulus was crying again, and Sirius couldn't be bothered to care. The damn kid was pissing him off, and Sirius had seen him pull this stunt a billion times when they were kids. Ignoring his brother, Sirius decided to make mincemeat out of the wards. It didn't take that long, only about ten minutes. He saw the ring in the ashes of the fireplace and made to pick it up. That of all things shocked Regulus out of his little world, and he shouted, "Stop!" before diving to keep Sirius from touching the ring. "It's cursed!" More calmly, now that Sirius was staring at his brother like the younger man was even more out of his mind, Regulus explained, "It's cursed. I don't know what he did to it, but don't touch it. It'll kill you."

"You know, that might have been something to say earlier," Sirius growled, deciding to just destroy the thing like he had the locket. He drew the sword and ordered, "Get out of the way." Regulus backed up from where he had landed on the ground after pushing Sirius away from the ring. No disturbing smoke rose out from the ring to greet him this time, which Sirius was thankful for. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the ghosts of Christmas past right now. Hell, he wasn't in the mood for much except beating the shit out of things. Sirius brought the sword down on the ring, and there was a blinding flash of light. Sirius immediately raised his arm to try and block it out, but he was temporarily blinded anyway. His vision was starting to clear up when he heard Regulus murmur, "My God…"

Sirius blinked the last of the unclearness away and turned to see what Regulus was so impressed by. It was just the ring. Well, what was left of the ring. The band itself had been cut in half, but the stone that had been set in it had fallen out. "What am I supposed to be seeing?" Sirius inquired, willing to play along.

"It's the Resurrection Stone," Regulus said in awe. Sirius's eyes widened as he realized that his brother was right.

"We need to leave it here," Sirius decided, letting go his anger at his brother for the moment. If Voldemort had used dark magic to the degree Regulus had suggested on that ring, then the Stone was effectively radioactive (except instead of radiation, it was dark magic). Noticing that Regulus was not particularly paying attention to what Sirius was saying, Sirius bodily dragged his brother away. "We're leaving. Mission accomplished."

"It belongs in a museum!" Regulus protested.

"It belongs to the last of the Peverells, and I have a feeling he'd be happier without it," Sirius corrected as they crossed into the outside again. "Furthermore, please remember that Dumbledore is the Professor Xavier to Grindelwald's Magneto. I'm not going to open that Pandora's box, and you aren't, either, all right?"

Regulus stopped trying to break free from Sirius's grip on his arm and nodded. Sirius apparated them without warning, just to pay his brother back for earlier. Now back in the apartment, Sirius tossed the sword back in the closet from whence it came and went to make himself a cup of tea. He made Regulus one as well, even if he was still angry with him.

A couple minutes later, the two of them were sitting on the couch drinking tea. Regulus was staring at his cup when he murmured, "I'm sorry. I was wrong to do what I did. I don't know what I was thinking. I just hadn't been able to think… and then Vesta tried to stop me, and I just don't know what happened. So, you've every right to be angry with me, but I am sorry."

Sirius glanced over at his brother. Regulus was sincere; Sirius had no doubt of that. What he did doubt was that his brother would learn from this. "You think saying sorry will just make it better? Really? What are you, twelve?" Sirius demanded.

"Dammit, Sirius, I know I fucked up, all right? I just don't know what I'm doing anymore! Do you have any idea how fucking hard it was for me to have gone yesterday?" Regulus shouted back. "I know I'm far from perfect, but, Goddammit, I was trying to do the right thing! Yes, I may not have made the best decisions, but I needed to do this! I didn't think Bellatrix would be waiting for me right at the bloody door! If she hadn't, I probably would have been able to slip out before someone said something!"

Sirius stared at his brother in disbelief before he growled, "You are lying. And why did I ever expect any better of you, huh? Fuck if I know. You meant to die, and we both know it."

"And what if I did?" Regulus shot back. "Would you have even cared?"

"Of course I would have cared, you dumbshit! You're still my brother, even if you are a self-absorbed asshole on occasion!" Sirius snapped. "You know who else would have cared? Your wife! And your kids! For fuck's sake, Regulus, did you even pause to think about them!"

"Of course I did! Why the fuck do you think I didn't kill myself?" Regulus shouted at him before paling and falling silent. He stood and walked over to the window. Mumbling, he said, "Sorry. I didn't—that wasn't supposed to be emotional blackmail. Forget I said it." Sirius was staring at his younger brother in horror, and Regulus turned back to him and explained, "Rudolphus gave me a dagger after I was dragged away from my conversation with Voldemort. He wrote it off as an act of mercy, fuck if I know why he would show me any of that."

Sirius stared for a moment before asking, "What are you saying?"

"I promised Vesta I'd come back, so I couldn't… I couldn't do it," Regulus said, starting to break down again. He was trying more than usual; Sirius noted and felt guilty because he knew that was why Regulus was doing that. Regulus hugged his arms to his chest and took a deep breath before continuing, "I—I knew that after Rudolphus got the information Voldemort wanted, the Dark Lord would let Bella do what she wanted, but I just couldn't …" Regulus was repeating himself from earlier, and Sirius wasn't feeling particularly sympathetic. Coldly, Regulus said, "Do you have any idea how disgusted I am with myself? Fuck, I was the one who always considered suicide the most selfish thing to possibly do, and I was more than willing to just kill myself and be done with it. You've every bloody right to be infuriated with me, and so does Vesta, but she _never_ is! She never gets pissed at me when I act like this! Granted, she was pretty fucking angry when I mentioned my meds ran out, but that's another story entirely."

Sirius was inclined to let his brother continue his rant, but he couldn't help but ask, "You're taking meds? For what?"

Regulus just stared at him like Sirius was mentally impaired and replied, a bit stunned, "Depression, dumbass! And anxiety! You may not have noticed, but I am mentally ill!"

Sirius considered that and mentioned, "You weren't depressed when we were kids."

"What planet did you live on?" Regulus demanded. "I wasn't as bad off as you, but if you remember correctly, our home life wasn't exactly the best, I _hated_ being in Slytherin, and I fucking ended up joining the fucking Death Eaters because our fucking psychotic cousin scared the shit out of me, even then!"

Sirius knew that if anyone else had been present, he would about to be slapped upside the head, but he still asked, "Reg… Have you taken your meds today?"

Regulus stared for a moment before he admitted, ashamed, "Vesta brought them this morning." Gradually becoming angrier as he spoke, he explained, "Hence why I'm so pissed. Every fucking time I think I can go off them, I end up fucking myself over, and then when I start taking them again, I get so pissed off at myself, 'cause it's fucking irresponsible of me. Christ, I bloody picked up smoking again because of this shit. What in the fuck was I thinking?"

Okay, so Sirius was starting to be far less angry with his brother. The reasoning behind the reckless behavior was starting to come into focus for him, as well as the effect both the reasoning and the behavior had on his brother. "You didn't want to finish this, did you? Not really," Sirius said, airing his theory. "Yeah, you wanted to come back, but you really didn't want to get involved again. Why didn't you just pass the information on and, I don't know, just subtly got back in contact with me and Cissy and I suppose Snape, since you two are friends for reasons I can't fathom? You could have saved yourself _and_ your wife a lot of pain, although you running through Hogwarts like a lunatic is a memory I'm going to treasure for a long time." He smiled wanly at that and continued, "Why did you feel like you had to go last night? You didn't. You didn't have to buy the time; you didn't have to mislead Voldemort; and you didn't have to try and bargain for that merry band of madmen to leave _me_ of all people alone. Reg, that was like asking the Order to ignore Bellatrix. We sure as hell wouldn't do that."

"Sirius, I'm really sorry. I am. I just—I don't even know," Regulus murmured, sitting down on the couch again. "I think I'm getting better, and then it turns out I'm dead wrong, but then I just start all over again, and it doesn't ever fucking stop! I want it to, but I—It's just something wrong with me. God, this year I've gone through two or three of these stupid cycles. The last time I had a major depressive episode was when I was finishing my dissertation…"

"Wait, dissertation? What?" Sirius said. Where in the hell had that come from?

Regulus stared at his brother for a moment before realizing he hadn't actually explained himself before. A little embarrassed, he explained, "I teach history at a university. I'm on leave this year because of a grant, which is more or less the only story the CIA could come up with. Of course, I've actually been doing the work I said I would, but the rest of my time is occupied with all of this bullshit."

Sirius then said, "You mean to tell me you've been a civilian for the past fifteen years?"

"Yeah?" Regulus replied nervously. "Does that really matter?"

"Yes, it does, Reg," Sirius answered. "You're not a soldier, and you never were. Why didn't you just learn from that? You're useless in battle—don't deny it—and you sure as hell were never cut out for fighting on either side in the war."

"Then what now?" Regulus asked, sounding lost. "I can't stop. I can't. I've put too much into this to just give up now…"

"Reggie, you're not giving up," Sirius told him gently. "You're just handing this over to someone else. You're not taking the easy way out; this would be doing the intelligent thing. For God's sake, you're still recovering from pneumonia, and you know you can't handle being around Bellatrix. Who do you think would think less of you for taking a break?"

"No one," Regulus acknowledged as he looked down at the ground. "No one but me." With a sigh, he continued, "I want redemption, and this was the best I could manage."

"What the hell do you think you did to need redemption?" Sirius demanded. "You told me that you never killed anyone. Was that a lie?"

Regulus looked up sharply and replied, "No. It wasn't, but that doesn't mean I wasn't party to what the others did. I stood by and let them do it. I _never_ raised a hand to stop it, so I'm just as guilty as the rest of them."

Sirius stared at his brother for a moment before admitting, exasperated, "You know, Reg, you are one of the single most infuriating people I've ever known. Wanna know why? Because you set these stupid and ridiculous standards for yourself. You expect yourself to win this war single-handedly not because you're arrogant but because you think it's your bloody duty. Do you have any idea how insane that is? You're only human, and no one else expects you to commit suicide by proxy running yourself down like this."

"Would you have said that to anyone else in my situation?" Regulus asked cuttingly.

Sirius thought about it before he replied, "No. Because anyone else would have already realized they had paid their dues." Also, he wouldn't have been as sympathetic. Reggie was his little brother, after all, and his situation was more or less unique if only because of Bellatrix.

"Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?" Regulus hoped. The look on the kid's face was a little heartbreaking, and Sirius was inclined to tell the truth, but the only reason he was still angry was because of how little Regulus seemed to care for himself.

With a smile, Sirius replied, "No. I'm not mad, not really. Just, you know, remember to think about yourself a bit more? You're not the Energizer Bunny, so don't act like it. Relax sometimes, all right?"

Regulus nodded, clearly feeling awful. "I'll try," he promised.

"Good," Sirius said authoritatively. "So. What are you going to do until further notice?"

"Become a hermit," Regulus replied with a straight face.

Sirius gave his brother an unamused look.

"You can join, too. We can wander around the cafés of London, doing mostly nothing."

"I don't think you really understand the meaning of the word hermit," Sirius pointed out.

Regulus shrugged and said, "To each their own. How does the Natural History Museum sound? I have the strangest urge to go read papers and look at dinosaurs."

"You make absolutely no sense sometimes," Sirius declared.

"Well, I'm meeting Cissy at the V&A tomorrow before lunch to wander around and catch up with her, hence why I suggest the Natural History Museum," Regulus explained.

Sirius considered what his brother had said, trying to decipher what the actual suggestion was. Finally, Sirius gave in and said, "Fine. I'll come with you on your museum-hopping expedition with Narcissa as long as you _really_ don't mind that I skip the V&A for dinosaurs."

Regulus hugged him. Sirius was confused as to why his reply had garnered that particular response, but then Sirius realized why. He was acting like everything was normal. And, that's what Regulus needed right now, wasn't it? Normal.

* * *

**_Notes_**_: I sincerely apologize for the painful science fiction references at the beginning of the chapter. Also, I might be updating twice a week from now on.  
_

**_Coming Soon_**_: Film noir makes a comeback and Snape regrets joining the Death Eaters._


	58. No More Heroes

Severus Snape was going to murder those miscreants. One, one he could deal with. At least Potter was more like Lily than his father. Vector's spawn, however, took after its other source of DNA. The girl, he did have to admit, was like Vector and thus more immune from his wrath. However, the miscreants talking boded ill. Sure, nothing new had happened since Severus had seen the forging of this unholy alliance, but he _knew_ something was coming. He just _knew_ it.

Speaking of unholy alliances, Severus was stuck at another Death Eater meeting because of one, but honestly he was glad of the reason. Regulus was an idiot and possibly the luckiest man to have ever lived. Severus considered him an idiot first and foremost because the moron had actually shown up for the last meeting, but he considered Regulus one hell of a lucky bastard because he had managed to escape. Somehow. The guards reported nothing out of the ordinary. Some old-timer had taken it upon himself to train some rookies, and Lestrange had checked that Regulus was still there some time later. The next morning, however, Regulus was gone.

There were a great number of theories being tossed around, but Severus was most fond of the "Rudophus is a liar who couldn't take the competition" argument of Bellatrix, mostly because she had actually said it. Severus was glad that her comment had been ignored or brushed off as Bellatrix being a sadistic psychopath. According to Bellatrix's supposedly crackpot theory, the Death Eaters who had left the cellblock right before Lestrange were actually a rescue party plus Regulus. Severus would normally have called bullshit on the idea simply because the hypothesis hinged on Lestrange lying about Regulus having been in his cell _after_ the others had left. However, Bellatrix made a twisted point, and Lestrange had seemed less enthusiastic lately, which with anyone else would have taken a superhuman effort to look that disapproving. Furthermore, Severus could even name who would have been in the rescue party: Black, Meadowes, and Crouch, who was surprisingly not dead and now working for the Order. Black was likely on a warpath at the moment, if Severus could predict the asshole's behavior at all. He had already loathed Bellatrix, so it was not much of a stretch that Black would go nuclear over her torturing one of his friends. That said, if he had finally figured out that his brother was his brother, Black would probably be even more willing to commit premeditated murder.

The meeting was winding down, thankfully. Severus wouldn't have been able to stand another hour of these fools discussing holes in security that—That's how they got in, Severus realized. Crouch was considered dead, so he hadn't been taken off any of the wards. Thus, Crouch snuck the others in, actually acted like a Death Eater, and made sure Black hadn't tried to kill everyone in sight. The only issue left would have been either how they fooled Lestrange or why in the name of God had Lestrange lied. Severus chose not to dwell on it. He did not want Voldemort catching wind of any of this. The Dark Lord had ranted earlier that Regulus had "tried to" use Occlumency against him. Judging by the fact that Voldemort didn't seem too worried about what Regulus might know, Severus figured that Voldemort hadn't been able to actually read Regulus's mind. Or, Regulus had made it look like he had broken under pressure. Severus honestly figured that the latter was more accurate.

After the meeting concluded and Voldemort had left, Bellatrix angrily stood and stormed off, sparing a glare for her husband. Lestrange ignored her. Lucius looked more fidgety than normal, but Severus figured that it was because Narcissa was likely off arguing with Black. Generally annoyed at the collected group, Severus made to leave. About halfway down the entrance hall and just about free from the collected den of lunatics, Lestrange called, "Snape! You forgot some of your papers."

And there it was. Bellatrix's supposedly crackpot theory was validated. Lestrange had engineered Regulus's escape. Severus stopped in his tracks and waited for Lestrange to catch up to him. Finally reaching Severus, Lestrange handed over a sheaf of paper and said archly, "Don't be so careless next time. You never know who will read what you leave lying around."

Severus restrained himself from rolling his eyes and replied, "Thank you. I was unaware that I had even left these in the conference room. It's a blessing that Bellatrix didn't take it upon herself to rifle through them." Lestrange narrowed his eyes, so Severus repeated, "Again, though. Thank you. I would have been loathe to be unable to deliver these to their rightful owners."

"See it does not happen again," Lestrange ordered, seeming slightly less tense, before storming away back from whence he came. The drama queen.

After about half an hour, Severus was back in his office nursing a bottle of cheap wine. He resented that he was constantly thrown in these damned situations. If it wasn't Black (the younger), then it was Malfoy (for reasons beyond even Severus's ken) or Lestrange (Severus had not expected that one). Once upon a time, it had only been Regulus and Lily for whom Severus had stuck his neck out, but those days were long gone. And so was Lily.

Fucking Potter.

Severus considered the nearing half-empty bottle and cursed his luck. Lily was dead. The spazzes he used to tutor in Potions were not. Black's and Potter's respective spawn were in league with one another. Black was being vaguely apathetic towards him. Sinistra was displaying some rather disturbing intentions towards him. And, the most bizarre, Rudolphus Lestrange was using him as a messenger pigeon. Oh, and he was a spy. That was just icing on the bloody cake.

Glancing at the stupid letter Lestrange wanted delivered, Severus considered burning it. It was what Black was likely to do, in any case. Assuming Regulus was conscious, the letter might survive a good five minutes before Satan decided to torch it. (Fuck. He was drunk. Severus was already calling Black by his official title, and he hadn't even finished off half the bottle of wine.) Then again, Meadowes was insane in different ways and would likely insist on reading the letter, and Crouch… he would go with whatever Regulus said.

Deciding to take a break from drinking himself under the table, Severus made himself semi-presentable and took a walk. He was not going to hand-deliver this stupid letter if it was at all possible, so the only viable alternative was recruiting someone else to deliver it. That someone else happened to be Vector. The worst-case scenario was that Black was with Vector. Severus did not need to walk into that, even if that meant Black would feel antipathy again. There were some things that Severus had no desire to ever know.

Finally at Vector's door, Severus knocked loudly. He thankfully couldn't hear anything he didn't want to, but that could have been a result of soundproofing. Either way, Severus was glad. The best-case scenario, however, was the one that happened. Vector opened the door, looking mostly asleep. "Severus? What the fuck? It's late," Vector said sleepily.

Severus shoved the letter in her face. "It's for your boyfriend," he explained. "I've been demoted to a messenger pigeon."

Vector stared at him for a moment before she stated, "You're drunk."

"And you're half-conscious. I don't think judging me is something you're capable of at the moment, unless you want me to comment on the frightful state of your hair," Severus replied.

Vector looked down at the letter she was now holding. "This is for Sirius?" she repeated.

Severus sighed and said, "Yes. And the dumbass he happens to share parents with."

Raising an eyebrow, Vector asked, "Really? That's all you can come up with right now? I expected more of you, Severus. You didn't even call Regulus a fucking twit or any of the other common appellations you've invented for him over the years. Are you worried?" Severus only narrowed his eyes, and Vector took that as an affirmative reply. She informed him, "He's fine, by the way. At least, that's all I could get out of my cousin. She's worried as hell about him, but Sirius is going to be watching him like a hawk for the next couple of days. I'll get them the letter; I should probably send Peter off to London for a day or two to see his aunt and uncle. Don't think I didn't notice him and Potter plotting. Don't worry, though. Peter swears their target is Umbridge and Umbridge alone."

Severus processed the information before he said—a little pained to admit this, even to himself—, "Then more power to them." After a moment, he asked, "Why did you name your son Peter? I always wondered that."

Vector was a little taken aback, but she replied, "Even though … all that had happened, it wasn't because of Pettigrew. Sirius had always liked the name."

"Hm. Well, good night, Vector," Severus said, choosing not to comment.

Seemingly amused, Vector replied, "You, too, Severus. Try not to drink too much. Don't want the children getting the wrong impression."

Severus snorted and continued his trek back down to his office and quarters. A hangover would only reinforce the popular opinion concerning him. There was no way this could go wrong. Severus reached his door and went to unlock it. At that point he realized two things: 1. He had left his keys in his office, and 2. His wand was there, too. Severus glared at the door before he stormed off to find someone to unlock it.

* * *

Regulus felt like the scum of the Earth, but he was writing on a deadline and needed to finish the damn paper before he could collapse into a ball of goo. He was only a couple pages away from the end—thank God—but he needed to keep writing. It was only the concluding paragraphs, really, but sometimes that was the worst part of it all.

Vesta was occasionally walking in and checking up on him, since she apparently had nothing better to do with her day off. Granted, Regulus reflected, she was probably partially motivated by keeping him from smoking in the kitchen. She needn't have bothered, though. The last pack he had bought before he had fallen ill and chucked the day after he and Sirius had talked. Regulus did know why she really was monitoring him so closely, and he wished she wasn't for that exact reason. With a sigh, Regulus returned to writing.

A couple hours later, he shut down the damned computer, walked into the TV room, and collapsed into a pile of goo on the sofa. He deserved brain-candy time. Vesta walked in and asked, "You finish the rough draft of that paper?"

Regulus nodded, wishing he had had the foresight to snag the remote before sitting down.

Vesta noticed and, sitting down on the couch next to him, handed him the remote. "You're welcome," she mentioned idly.

"Thanks," Regulus replied. After staring at the lack of things on television, he apologized, "I'm sorry I'm so bloody useless."

Vesta sighed exasperatedly and said, "You're not useless. You do damnably stupid things on occasion, but you're not useless. For example, that time you tried to repair the deck. That was painful to watch, but you did actually end up repairing the deck even if the nail-gun was a bad idea. You could have saved yourself a trip to the hospital there."

"How is the deck relevant?" Regulus asked, wondering for the umpteenth time why there was an entire channel devoted to the Second World War. Oh, a program on the Battle of Midway was coming on later. That looked interesting. He might actually pay attention to that one… Nah.

"It isn't. It was an example," Vesta reminded him. "Now, I know I'm distracting you from the Hitler channel, but this needs to be said. I'm not mad at you. I was worried out of my mind, and I hate that you consider your life to be worthless, but I am not angry with you. I understand why you've been acting the way you do, but there will be blood the next time you stop taking your medication, all right?"

Regulus glanced at Vesta and, working up the courage, asked, "Why aren't you angry?"

"Because I know you, Regulus, and I know that you're far more angry with yourself than I could ever be at you. Furthermore, as much as I hate that you took it upon yourself to do what you've done for the war, I can't be angry with you for trying to do the right thing," Vesta explained. After a tense pause, she continued, "All I ask is that you stop putting yourself in so much danger. Please? I know you'll end up caught up in something, but please just take care."

Regulus looked down at his hands and apologized, "I'm sorry…" Oh, God, he was not going to start sobbing again. Vesta wasn't trying to make him upset. She was trying to cheer him up! And how was he repaying her? By having a nervous breakdown.

The moment he started to sob again, Vesta had moved next to him and started to rub his back soothingly. "Shh, Regulus, it's all right," she murmured. "It's all right. Just let it all out. We both know why you're upset. This isn't your fault." But it was his fault. It was always his fault. He couldn't stop himself. He never could. He always let himself get hurt and then ended up hurting Vesta. He didn't deserve her forgiveness. "Why don't I make dinner? It'll be one of my gourmet meals? Potato chips, Coca Cola, and macaroni and cheese?"

With a depressed laugh, Regulus murmured, "I thought your specialty was frozen pizza?"

Vesta admitted, "Okay, so I was stretching it with the macaroni." She smiled, clearly glad to have brought him back out of his shell. "C'mon. I'll put one in the oven. Why don't you put a movie on? Something happy?"

Regulus nodded, trying to clean himself up. Vesta tossed him a box of tissues. He was glad for the snot-rags. Now he really felt like a drippy goo-monster. Regulus put a random movie on. It was the one with the bizarre dog monster thing. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch. A nap sounded best.

Regulus was awoken to a disturbance on his couch. He could smell pizza, so an hour had probably passed. "How are you feeling?" Sirius asked, distracted. Regulus figured he was confused as to why there was a bizarre dog monster thing. "Vesta said you'd had a long day."

"Yeah…" Regulus murmured. "I finished writing my article."

"Huh," Sirius acknowledged.

"Why are you here tonight?" Regulus asked, somewhat annoyed that his brother was cutting off the circulation in his feet. "And stop sitting on me. My legs are falling asleep."

"Dunno. Artemesia ordered me to come," Sirius replied. Turning to Regulus, he asked, "So what's with the dog thing?" Regulus glared at him, so Sirius stopped sitting on Regulus's feet. "Now will you answer me?"

"I don't know. All these movies started to blend together for me after the umpteenth time our kids made me sit through them," Regulus explained. He looked around the room and asked, "Did you even save me some pizza? Vesta made it for me…" Sirius shoved a plate in front of his brother's face. Regulus rolled his eyes and took the plate from him.

Vesta walked in the room at that point and flatly stated, "I found out why Artemesia convinced you to—Why are you watching—Actually, you know what, I don't want to know."

With a sigh, Sirius was about to launch into a complex explanation (Regulus knew the look on his face), but then his spawn bounced into the room. Regulus was unsurprised. This was just his kind of day. Although, the flabbergasted look on Sirius's face was one that Regulus was going to treasure, especially after Peter chirped, "Hey, Uncle Terry! Hey, Dad!"

Regulus grinned and mentioned to Vesta, "This is better than Zoloft."

Vesta looked to the ceiling for strength and explained, "Artemesia forgot to mention that she was sending him down for the weekend." Both she and Regulus were more or less ignoring Sirius trying to make sense of Peter, who seemed to be more than amused by his father's inability to form a coherent string of words.

"Spring Break?" Regulus guessed.

Vesta nodded and said, "Apparently Artemesia needed one."

"More like Severus needed a break," Regulus guessed.

"…and _then_ the carnivorous mistletoe!" Peter finished explaining. All three adults were staring at Peter because of that particular phrase. "What? Umbridge is evil! She took away the Quidditch! And gave me a detention for absolutely no reason! Even if I did call her a hellbeast!"

Sirius blinked and then managed, "I approve." It was because of the Quidditch. Regulus was convinced. Or the fact that Umbridge loathed Artemesia for asinine reasons and was prejudiced against werewolves and just generally thought Sirius to be awful. Well, okay, so Regulus approved, too, but he wasn't going to tell Peter that. That would just encourage the kid. And, of course, Sirius wouldn't know that nor would that occur to him, since he and his son more or less shared the same thought processes.

Like a tigger, Peter then bounced out of the room as abruptly as he had bounced in. Vesta waited until the kid had begun to attack the pizza before she handed a letter over to Sirius. Regulus had a bad feeling about this. "Apparently Artemesia resents being a mailman as much as Snape does being a messenger pigeon? Does that make any sense?" Vesta reported.

Sirius shrugged as he ripped open the envelope and began reading. Regulus ignored him and answered, "Yeah. Unfortunately. The others have this crazy theory that Pettigrew is trying to ingratiate himself with the Order of the Phoenix again. Dorcas has a whole conspiracy theory mapped out on about a ream of computer paper."

"Crouch was right the first time," Sirius interrupted. "It was Lestrange." After scanning a little more, Sirius reported flatly, "He wrongly assumed you would have quit after the rather blatant death threats. That said, this could all be a bunch of bullshit and a trap."

Regulus groaned. "I don't want to hear about it. Please? Can't we just watch the weird flying dog thing?" he whined. "Look, we can talk about it tomorrow."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's the best you can do?" he said, unimpressed. After shaking his head, Sirius continued, still on topic, "He wants to meet with you in about a week. Says he has information for us. Raise your hand if you think that's _not_ bullshit."

No one moved, but Regulus did feel like he had to mention, "We should still check it out, Sirius. What if this is … sincere isn't the right word, but you know what I mean."

" 'We' had better mean not you," Vesta interjected. "_You_ are going to rest."

"Yeah. I'll be the one checking it out; Dorcas'll be backup. She scares the Death Eaters like no one else," Sirius agreed, pocketing the letter.

The three adults were silent for a moment before Regulus inquired, "So when were you going to ask for a convenient escape route, Siri? You've been very patient, and I know you're not prepared to deal with your clone right now."

"I should not have given you that pizza," Sirius declared, glaring.

Vesta laughed at them and left the room.

"But, seriously, what the hell?" Sirius said, glancing nervously towards the kitchen.

Regulus just grinned.

* * *

Sirius had no idea why he had decided to take Lestrange's letter at face value. Maybe the truce with Crouch was negatively impacting Sirius's cognitive abilities. Stranger things had happened. Much stranger things. Stranger things such as Sirius acting like he was a private eye in a black and white film noir flick from the forties. There was a dramatic lamppost and everything! Sure, it may have partially been his own fault for dressing the part, but Sirius would be damned if he showed up to this looking worse than Lestrange, even if they had reached something like a truce in Azkaban.

Sirius hadn't told anyone about that. He hadn't mentioned the other reasons he had stayed sane. Sure, he was innocent of the crimes they had imprisoned him for, but the dementors had more than enough material to work with in Sirius. He hadn't needed to actually _be_ guilty; he just needed to feel guilty. Turning into a dog helped, but Sirius hadn't been able to stay in animagus form all the time. Real, live guards did pass by every so often. So, like the others trapped in their little boxes, he ended up talking to them. Rudolphus was located across the hall for the vast majority of Sirius's incarceration. Bellatrix was to Sirius's right, and she never shut up when she took the time to remember that Sirius was in the cell next to her. Of course, idiot that he was, Sirius had figured she lied whenever she spoke just so she could hurt him even more. That was why he knew things Regulus hadn't said. The moment his brother had validated even some of Bellatrix's insane rants, Sirius had realized she was likely telling the truth about everything else. Lestrange had told him that Bellatrix was lying back then, and in retrospect, the kindness made no sense. Without, that is, taking into account both Sirius's and Lestrange's belief they were going to die in that damned place.

While Sirius condemned more or less everything Lestrange thought about blood purity, he did respect his cousin's husband if only for the fact that Lestrange both admitted and knew he had committed crimes worthy of Azkaban. He did not regret what he had done, but he did not believe it an injustice to be locked away. For that reason, Sirius could actually stand talking to the man. Anyone else nearby was Bellatrix, who simply loved explaining how much of a fool Sirius was for trusting Pettigrew and how she had tortured his brother, or completely disgusting. Despite his role in driving Frank and Alice insane, Lestrange seemed to hold a certain contempt for the Dark Lord and the general reason Bellatrix had decided to make that attack in the first place. This was not to say Sirius did not hate him for what he did to Frank and Alice, just that Lestrange at least had the decency to cop to what he had done. That alone was far more than any of the other Death Eaters, especially those in Azkaban, had admitted.

Thus, Sirius was waiting for Lestrange. Or maybe even Godot, but Sirius doubted that Lestrange would want to talk about literature and philosophy. Hell, Sirius didn't want to talk about either. He just wanted Lestrange to show up and give him the sales pitch so he could get the hell out and keep Regulus from doing something stupid, like apparate next to him in the middle of the conversation. Sure, the kid was doing better, but Sirius was hesitant to even include Regulus—Oh, shit. There was an Order meeting soon. Sirius felt like punching the brick wall behind him. He was going to have to report to the Order about Lestrange's supposed information (Sirius doubted it would help) _and_ mention that his idiot little brother was in fact said stupid kid brother. Regulus could handle that one. He more or less left Sirius high and dry when Crouch got inducted into the Super Secret Society Dedicated to Killing Voldemort. Sirius meant each and every capitalized letter of that sarcastic name in his inner monologue.

It was strange, but Sirius felt bizarrely glad that Pettigrew hadn't been the one to help them rescue Regulus. Lestrange had explained the subterfuge (obliquely) in the letter, but for some reason Sirius felt he could trust Lestrange to be a bastard and hate Voldemort. Pettigrew switching sides again didn't make any sense. Sure, the Order was still on the side of power, but Voldemort probably still looked just as appealing as he had back during the height of the war for Pettigrew. Sirius knew the rat well enough to know how his mind worked. Lestrange on the other hand loathed Voldemort for understandable reasons; the bastard likely believed in the exclusion from Wizarding society or death of Muggleborns, but Lestrange didn't want Voldemort to be the one that started it. Sirius laughed at himself. Typical of him to trust the unrepentant bastard more than the backstabbing rat.

"Black," Sirius heard a voice say. He turned to the left to see Lestrange walk out of an alley, similarly attired. Sirius had to say that the fedora was a nice touch. Very classy.

"Lestrange," Sirius acknowledged. They were both silent for a moment, sizing each other up. Sirius could tell that, like himself, Lestrange had come armed. "We going to continue like we're starring in 'The Maltese Falcon' or should we find a less melodramatic location to talk?"

"Where do you suggest? Some dive lounge? Or a restaurant where we're both likely to be identified?" Lestrange asked pointedly.

"A lounge isn't a bad plan, Lestrange. I know you're too well dressed for a bar, especially any given Muggle bar in this day and age," Sirius commented neutrally.

Lestrange stared at Sirius for a moment before acquiescing, "You make a good point."

A short walk later, they entered an establishment that suited their needs. Sirius had admittedly had half an intention to take Lestrange into a gay bar, just to see what would happen, but this meeting needed to be on as equal terms as possible. Alienation of either party was not the aim of this endeavor. Now that the stage was really set for a film noir, Sirius decided to go all out and order a scotch on the rocks. When in type, why not act like it?

"I assume you more or less believe what I wrote in the letter?" Lestrange inquired, taking a sip of his martini (stirred, not shaken).

"Yes. It's much more palatable to believe that you were the one that aided us," Sirius admitted. He wondered for a moment why he felt the urge to include even one of his reasons for coming to this meeting, but at the moment it simply didn't matter. "It also made more sense."

Lestrange grimaced and said, "We both know that Bellatrix has gone completely mad. Narcissa has been noticeably nervous around her for the past couple months, even before she started covering for your brother. Unlike Bellatrix, I am aware that Narcissa still talks to her other sister, but I am sure you understand what I mean about Bellatrix."

"Narcissa mentioned that Bellatrix was on the edge back in the day; I always thought she'd gone off the rails already. But I do agree that she belongs in Arkham Asylum," Sirius said, not caring that he sounded bitter. "Too bad Bedlam's long gone."

Lestrange ignored Sirius's reference to the super-rich wandering around the Five Boroughs in a cape and tights. "Fine, then," Lestrange said. "Let's talk business." Sirius wondered why they had even started talking about Bellatrix, but he started to wonder if this was Lestrange's way of explaining himself. "I have information that you and likely the rest of your group would like to know. I will give it to you in exchange for two things."

"And they are?" Sirius prompted. He wasn't in any position to make deals, but anything that sounded reasonable was likely to be adopted. Also, Sirius had the sneaking suspicion that Lestrange wasn't going to ask for anything outrageous.

"I want Rabastan put in a mental hospital, and I want to be put in a Muggle prison," Lestrange replied. "I don't care what happens to Bellatrix anymore. The woman I married… it's taken me years to see it, but she's long gone. I occasionally wonder if she ever really existed."

"She did," Sirius murmured. Once upon a time, Bellatrix _had_ been a decent person.

"Do you really think the powers that be would agree to the Muggle prison?" Lestrange asked, noticing Sirius hadn't said anything on the matter. "We both know no one that has even the faint rumblings of a conscience deserves Azkaban."

"I know," Sirius said. "I can't promise anything on that. You know that the government would be unlikely to send a wizard to a non-magical prison. I don't know how much better other countries are in regards to the prisons for the magical populations, but Azkaban's a hellhole." After a moment, he continued, "But the mental hospital part, I think that's doable."

"That's sufficient, then," Lestrange decided. He drew a packet of papers out from an interior pocket in his coat and handed them to Sirius. "Those are dates and times the headquarters will be empty as well as a map and a skeleton key. That's all I can reliably give you without the Dark Lord realizing who betrayed him. Also, I assume you have a vague idea of when we're going to attack the Ministry."

Sirius grinned wickedly and countered, "You aren't getting that information out of me, Lestrange. This is a deal for this information, and this information only."

Lazily, Lestrange mentioned, "As long as you know. Good luck with whatever it is you're doing. Lord Voldemort grows angrier by the day."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sirius said. After a terse goodbye, he left.

* * *

Rudolphus Lestrange finished off his martini and set down the appropriate amount of money for the two drinks. Black hadn't even touched his scotch. The ice cubes made small clinking noises as they melted and settled. However, Rudolphus had to admit he was glad of one thing. Black remained a man of his word.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Half-baked plans.  
_


	59. Ballroom Blitz

"I WANT THE CHILDREN RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS EXPELLED!" Umbridge screeched. Everyone in the Great Hall heard her declaration to McGoogles. What she didn't know was that they had only begun to fight…

Leo was staring at Peter in horror from the Hufflepuff table, probably because Peter was grinning like a loon. For the past couple days, Peter had attempted to pass as a Slytherin student. The Slytherins believed it far less than the Ravenclaws had when Peter infiltrated them for a day. The Hufflepuffs Peter still wasn't sure about. He couldn't tell if they had realized or if they had realized and just didn't care. The Slytherins accepted Peter as a bizarre pureblood usually found amongst the Ravenclaws. The more intelligent ones suspected he didn't attend the school. Macha's little boyfriend was strangely enough part of that select group.

Speaking of Smith, the kid was more or less attempting to blend in with the scenery, most likely due to his proximity to Peter. Macha looked bored, though. Peter was pretty happy about that. She had been a wreck a couple days ago, so if she was already bored with Peter's antics, then she had to be getting better. Then again, he could have been missing something.

Peter sobered. He was missing something. Maybe that was why Leo had been trying to push him in the general direction of the Slytherin table. Leo was perceptive like that, like Uncle Terry. Ignoring Umbridge's rant, Peter scooted closer to his cousin and asked, "Hey, you okay?"

Macha looked stunned that he was talking to her instead of preening over his achievement. She hissed back at him, "Don't talk to me—I don't want to be associated with you right now. Umbridge is on a warpath, and you're her target."

Peter stared at her, his temper rising. However, he ignored her dig and replied sarcastically, "Yeah, you seem completely okay. That's exactly the word I would use."

"Go to hell, Peter," Macha growled. She turned away to get him to stop talking to her.

"That's not going to work," Peter mentioned in a sing-song. A couple of the other students nearby were starting to stare at Macha and Peter, more likely than not afraid that one of the professors, Filch, or Umbridge was going to notice. Especially now that Dumbledore was gone. Peter wasn't sure how that had happened, but he had noticed that Harry was really angry about it. Gemma had more or less chased Peter away from the Gryffindor table because of his refusal to act like a normal student, the majority of which considered Harry a demigod.

Macha glared at her cousin before she stood up and left, ignoring the scandalized looks directed her way as she stormed out of the Great Hall in the middle of High Inquisitor Umbridge's rant. Leo seemed rooted in place in shock, so Peter took it upon himself to go run after Macha. Someone had to, after all. Besides, he was the only one that seemed to not give a damn if Umbridge hated him, but Peter figured that was at least partly genetic.

He caught up with Macha soon enough. She was sitting in an alcove in one of the hallways branching off from the Great Hall, looking as if the world was collapsing in on itself. Peter immediately felt guilty; he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. He had just thought that if she was upset, she'd feel better if she talked about it. That's what Peter had heard somewhere, in any case. "Go _away_, John!" Macha ordered, not even looking up to see who was approaching.

"Wrong person, Macha," Peter mentioned blithely as he sat down next to his cousin. She looked up and glared at him for that before going back to dramatically crying (almost) alone in the hallway. "You see, that might work with your minion, but I am not as easy to scare away. Also, Leo looked like a deer in the headlights, so I figured I was the only one left to go talk to you. So. What's wrong? Gemma said you'd been really angry at your dad, but I was under the impression all that had been sorted out."

Macha didn't reply for a moment as she stared sullenly at the floor. "You wouldn't understand," she murmured.

Peter considered and then reiterated, "As I said, Macha, I thought it was all sorted. Leo said as much to me when I was bugging him a couple days ago when I decided I didn't believe my rather clueless sister. I mean, sure we're apparently related to crazy people, but I thought we already knew that? 'Cause, I mean, your dad's normally kinda nuts."

And Peter was just as adept with words as a seal was adept at flying. Considering how awful his own father appeared to be with cheering people up, Peter figured he just had hit the genetic jackpot. Of course, his mother could be just as awkward at times, but she at least knew how to talk to people when they got upset. Everyone always said how much Gemma was like their mother, which Peter supposed was why he ended up acting out a bit.

Biting his lip, Peter tried to think of something to say to calm his cousin down, but he didn't even know what was wrong. Okay, so Macha at least knew that Gemma was the only clueless one at this point. Macha not snapping at him meant that. The bursting into tears again, on the other hand, meant that she was still upset because of Uncle Terry (Peter couldn't really bring himself to use his uncle's real name, even in his head, and he didn't know why). Peter looked away from his cousin and apologized, "Sorry. I didn't mean… You shouldn't feel guilty, Macha. Hell, I freaked out when I put the pieces together. It's just that, you know, your dad was there to explain himself. I don't think anyone blames you for freaking out."

Macha shook her head and said, "That's not it." She wiped her nose on her sleeve and explained, "Dad, he explained everything. He told me not to be upset or anything, and when I tried to talk to him about everything, he … he got this really weird look on his face. It really scared me, but I didn't ask anything more. And Mom wrote this really weird letter to me a couple days ago. Dad hasn't written at all since he visited, but he said he would…"

Peter considered what she said. Uncle Terry had looked a bit under the weather when Peter had gone down to London. His father had been strangely concerned, too. "I don't think anything's really wrong, Macha. Your dad just seemed sick and kinda exhausted. My, er, father was visiting, and he didn't seem overly worried."

"Yeah?" Macha asked, hopeful. "Are you sure?" She frowned and said, "Was he getting sick the last time I saw him? 'Cause he didn't look too well, then, either…"

Peter realized at that point that he had misspoken, because now that he thought about it, he realized that his aunt had seemed pretty concerned, too. Aunt Vesta wouldn't have been upset about some flu, and Uncle Terry hadn't seemed seriously ill. Peter realized it probably had to do with the war and decided to not mention that conclusion to his cousin. She _really_ didn't need to think about that. Hell, Leo and Peter did their best not to think about it. "I'm sure everything's okay, Macha," Peter said firmly. He hoped he sounded convincing.

For a brief moment, Peter thought his reassurance had worked, but Macha shook her head and murmured, "There has to be something wrong. Dad _promised_. He wouldn't have just forgotten… You don't think he got hurt, do you?"

Peter grimaced, but he admitted, "I dunno, Macha. That might've been what was wrong. I mean, when I was down in London, your mom handed me off to Diana as frequently as possible. I only really saw your dad at dinner; Uncle Terry slept in pretty late, and Diana made it her mission to drag me around the city from dawn until dusk."

Macha sighed and said, "You don't think he's mad at me, do you?"

Peter raised an eyebrow and declared, "Hell, no! If anything, he seemed sad in general." And Peter really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. He really did. Trying to salvage the situation, he explained, "I might be wrong, Macha, so don't take my word on it. Besides, wouldn't your mom have said something if there was something wrong? And Uncle Terry might've just been tired, especially since he's recovering from some disease your mom was talking to my father about. They sounded relieved about that."

"Are you sure?" Macha asked. Peter nodded, so she admitted, "Thanks for telling me all this. It's just so hard being left out of the loop."

Peter snorted and mentioned, "Imagine how bad it'll be when someone breaks the news to Gemma that Sirius Black's our dad."

Macha smiled and said, "I volunteer."

* * *

Regulus started to wonder if he had made the right decision in convincing the others that he was all right. All right, so Sirius clearly didn't believe him in the slightest, but Barty and Dorcas didn't seem to have questioned the accuracy of his statement. He was more or less recovered from the pneumonia—finally—but that wasn't why he was hesitating.

He didn't want to go back there.

Regulus flinched when Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "You sure you're okay, Reg?" Sirius asked, still worried. "You don't look so hot." His older brother looked about as concerned as Regulus expected, and that cheered him for some reason. In a low voice, Sirius said, "You don't have to come, Reg. You really don't."

Regulus shook his head and said, "No. I'm fine." He tried to smile and reassured him, "I'm okay. Really." After a sigh, Regulus asked, just to be sure, "Are you absolutely sure that Rudolphus was telling the truth? This could be—"

Sirius frowned and reassured him, "Reggie, it's really all right if you stay behind. No one would blame you. And I know Rudolphus isn't lying. There are more convincing ways to draw us into a trap. Many more convincing ways."

With a nod, Regulus reiterated, "It's fine. Let's just get going, okay?"

Smiling, Sirius squeezed his younger brother's shoulder and replied, "All right."

Regulus followed him out of the room. A while later, they were walking around the Death Eater Headquarters. Regulus felt stupid doing it, but he stayed close to his brother as they walked around. As promised, the place was as silent as the grave and empty. Barty and Dorcas had wandered off on their own in different directions. Sirius was the only one with a weapon capable of killing anything they came up against, specifically the horcrux. Regulus knew it was the snake, but he had used it as an excuse to stay close to his brother.

Sirius tensed all of a sudden and murmured, "Reg, go hide over there. Someone's coming." Normally, Regulus would have snapped at him for saying something like that, but he couldn't bring himself to do so this time. He just ran over to the hall to their left and waited, watching his brother and keeping an eye on the other end of the hallway the other half of the time. All four of them had dressed the part expected of them: Barty could pass as a Death Eater, Regulus less so, but Sirius and Dorcas flat out dressed like they normally would have. Dark clothes, but clothes cut like an Auror's. There was no point in hiding now. The Death Eater approached, and Sirius mentioned offhandedly, "I thought this was the compound of the Great Voldemort. Seems like a shithole to me."

Regulus could have strangled his brother. That wasn't necessary.

"Auror!" the Death Eater hissed. Regulus heard him cast an opening spell.

True to form, Sirius laughed at his combatant and responded in kind. One of the spells hit, and Sirius snorted. "Really? That's all you have to give me? _That?_" he demanded haughtily. "Voldemort must be picking idiots from the bottom of the barrel nowadays. Back when I was your age, the jackass was recruiting the best of the best. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"

"You're laying it on a bit thick," Regulus informed his big brother lightly.

"I wasn't asking you," Sirius replied, not even glancing in Regulus's direction.

The grunt snorted. He sounded like he was in pain when he said, "I won't betray my Lord or his cause. Not to you and certainly not to anyone else!" Regulus could almost feel the smirk the kid was making. "When did Voldemort turn you down?"

Sirius laughed, and Regulus winced. "About when Bellatrix almost killed my brother," he informed him. "Oh, wait, never mind. That's when I tried to kill her. Shit, I get all this crap confused. Azkaban really fucks you up. I'm sure you've noticed with my _dear_ cousin Bella."

Regulus sighed. Of course his idiot brother was rubbing the magnitude of the kid's fuck-up into the poor grunt's face. What else did he expect? Regulus made to walk over to where his brother was when he felt a wand at his back. He didn't say anything and was about to turn around. The man (_Thank Merlin!_) slammed Regulus against the wall and disarmed him.

"Make a sound, and I'll kill Black," the newcomer growled. He pulled Regulus down the hall and shoved him into a conference room. Regulus stumbled and fell onto the floor. He winced as he fell wrong on his weak ankle. Shutting the door behind him, Rabastan smirked.

"Of course you'd be left behind," Regulus said, tired and in pain. His fucking ankle had to act up right now, and he just _had_ to trail behind his elder brother. "Why wouldn't you?"

Rabastan smirked and boasted, "Of could I would. Who else would Voldemort trust outside of Bellatrix and my brother?"

"Someone more intelligent?" Regulus sniped back. He tried to move his ankle and was relieved that it wasn't damaged. He could still stand, and if he could stand, he could fight. He might not be able to fight with magic, but he could still fistfight.

Rabastan growled a cutting curse at Regulus, which clipped him on his left arm. However, that meant Rabastan was angry, and when Rabastan was angry, Regulus had the advantage. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he kicked out at Rabastan's knee. Rabastan fell over, clutching his knee. Hopefully, the bastard's joint was fucked up. Regulus scrambled over and grabbed his wand, which he then used to stun and restrain Lestrange. He remembered to grab the other man's wand and then rushed out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Regulus ran down the hall to where his brother last was and found Sirius leaning against the wall, having a one-sided conversation with the Death Eater grunt. Regulus caught his brother's eye, and Sirius shook his head. Regulus chose not to tell his brother what had just happened until he was finished. He walked over to where Sirius was standing and demanded of the Death Eater, "How many of you are still here? I already dealt with Lestrange."

"You!" the kid exclaimed. Apparently Sirius wasn't recognizable, but Regulus was. Then again, Voldemort had made a bit of a production in punishing Regulus. "You—you're the traitor! Regulus Black!"

"Yes, we're all well aware of that," Sirius mentioned, bored, and said, "Now answer his question." He sent his brother a look that meant Regulus would have some explaining to do.

"I won't speak to either you!" the kid declared.

Sirius sighed and informed his brother, "He's been like this the entire time you were otherwise occupied. Won't say a word to me. What about Lestrange?"

"You know Rabastan, Sirius," Regulus replied.

With a curt laugh, Sirius asked, "That bad, huh? He didn't start talking about conspiracy theories this time, did he?" Regulus rolled his eyes. Turning to the kid, Sirius inquired, "You change your mind about talking? I mean, you might think this could turn out okay, even if you are up against us, but it's not. Unless you're as good a duelist as Bella and even somewhat competent at hand-to-hand combat, you're not getting out of this."

From down the hall, Regulus heard Dorcas' voice echo, "Dude! There is nothing here! No people, no snake, no nothing! I was promised ass-kicking!"

"Well, Dorcas, we can't always get what we want, can we?" Barty muttered.

Regulus grinned to himself as the other two arrived. "Maybe you two'll have more luck," Sirius said to Barty and Dorcas. "Try not to scar the kid for life. He might deserve some time in Azkaban, but inflicting you two on him is practically a war crime."

Dorcas bounded over and hugged Sirius. "I didn't know you thought so much of me!" she exclaimed cheerfully. Sirius looked uncomfortable.

Barty sighed and demanded, "Are you the only other here?" Regulus was vaguely disturbed by the tone of voice his friend had adopted, but he wasn't sure why until he realized his brother and Dorcas had both jumped to attention. No one was going to mention the easy comparison between Barty and his father, least of all Regulus.

"Those idiots managed to find _another_ turncoat?" the kid discovered, stunned.

"Oi! These idiots include the only person Evan Rosier flat out ran away from in battle!" Dorcas protested. She was more or less ignored by the Death Eater, which prompted Sirius to reassure her of her ability to put the fear of God in most of the old guard Death Eaters.

"They have their ways," Barty replied, thoroughly unimpressed. He flicked some imaginary dust off his sleeve and resumed, "Again, are you the only other Death Eater here besides Rabastan Lestrange?" As an aside, he turned to Regulus and mentioned, "Nice work, by the way." Having received no answer from the Death Eater, Barty mentioned offhandedly, "You have ten seconds before I let Meadowes go nuclear on you."

Feeling that he had an advantage because the four people in front of him supposedly considered themselves to be on the moral high ground, the kid exclaimed, "You won't do anything even vaguely against the law. That's how you types work!"

Dorcas raised an eyebrow and turned to Sirius, who nodded solemnly. Then, she mentioned conspiratorially to the Death Eater, "I'm Batman."

Regulus felt a headache coming on. There was no way that the kid was going to understand that reference. This was probably some pureblooded teenager who had no idea what he was getting himself into. Regulus chose to ignore the irony of that thought.

The kid looked unimpressed until Barty mentioned, "Look, Regulus might be above that, and Black might be more or less above that, but Meadowes is trying to explain that neither she nor I consider to grinding you into the pavement to get what we need to know a moral quandry."

The Death Eater looked back and forth between Barty and Dorcas and realized that they were not kidding. Sirius looked generally unconcerned, which probably increased the kid's nervousness, but Regulus was sending out the opposite signal. He supposed his own reaction could actually be contributing to the general uneasiness, now that he thought about it.

"C'mon, kid. What's the worst that can happen? Rabastard got his ass handed to him. It's not like Voldemort can blame you for letting your guard down," Sirius argued. "Otherwise, he'd probably have to kick Lestrange to the curb, which, let's be honest, is the intelligent decision."

"Hence why Voldemort won't do it!" Dorcas explained cheerfully.

"And it's a simple question," Barty reiterated steely. "Is anyone else here?"

The Death Eater looked at Regulus, who apparently was the least threatening one of the four, and, receiving no sign of leniency, exclaimed, "Wait! I'll tell you whatever you want!"

Sirius then demanded, "Where's the snake?"

The Death Eater was clearly confused but replied, "With Voldemort, as always now."

Subtly getting Regulus's attention, Barty murmured, "He probably started that when he realized what we were up to."

"Yet another example of how I fucked up royally," Regulus agreed in a whisper.

"Where's Voldemort now?" Dorcas inquired over Sirius's swearing. The kid had been staring at Regulus's brother in something approaching respect if only for the sheer creativity Sirius was showing in his turn of phrase. "I can't wait to have a rematch!"

"The—the Department of Mysteries," the Death Eater stammered, now terrified of Dorcas for one reason or another.

Sirius stopped swearing for a moment as the news sank in. Regulus suggested, "You figure out the plan of attack. I'll finish this up." Barty looked at Regulus curiously, but he let Dorcas drag him off to the impromptu war meeting about five yards away. Sirius raised an eyebrow at Regulus, who then reiterated, "It's fine. I'm not useless, you know."

The junior Death Eater stared at Regulus in confusion. The poor kid probably had no idea what he had just witnessed, but even after more than a decade of dealing with that kind of nonsense, Regulus couldn't say he was any better off. Cutting the kid off before he could say anything, Regulus counseled, "Look, I know you're thinking that we're traitors, but you're wrong. We obeyed a lie. Backing away from a madman spreading hate and vitriol isn't the wrong thing to do. Most of us realized that too late, but it's not too late for you. Your presence here is as cannon fodder. Rabastan was the skeleton crew. You're the alarm system.

"Don't believe me? Well, let's just say that I remember what it was like back when the Aurors and the Death Eaters clashed as frequently as they could. The alarm died or was dragged off to Azkaban, and Voldemort never cared. He didn't even care when some of his best servants died. The only times he ever gave a damn was when someone gave him the insult of quitting or openly defied him. His verdict was death, but that only fueled the fires for vengeance in the rest of us. Voldemort doesn't care about the Great Cause or whatever they call it now, and he certainly doesn't care about you. What he cares about is himself and how he can preserve his precious pseudo-immortality. Just keep that in mind the next time he asks you to die for him."

The Death Eater could only stare until he pulled himself together and asked, "What about the rest of the questions you lot had for me? You can't seriously have just meant to—"

"A two man crew was always left at HQ when everyone went out on a raid," Regulus said, cutting him off. "And you gave us the information we really wanted. What's left to ask?"

"You're to be my executioner, then?"

Regulus laughed and asked, "Are you kidding? Me? Fuck, if I was going to kill you, I'd not have given you a bloody lecture, kid!" With a shadow of a grin, he said, "Seriously, if we were going to kill you, Dorcas and Barty would have gone medieval on your ass. Anyway, you have two choices: get the hell out of here and never return or get knocked out and let the Fates decide. All I can say is that the latter option isn't likely to end well for you, and from what I've heard, Azkaban isn't too nice this time of year or any time of year at all, really."

"Why in the hell should I leave the Death Eaters?" the kid demanded. Regulus heard the uncertainty in his voice, despite his words. "You said so yourself: Voldemort's immortal!"

Regulus replied with grim satisfaction, "But he soon won't be."

* * *

Hermione felt like a headless chicken. Ever since Harry had woken in the middle of the night, she, Ron, and Harry had been mucking about trying to get to a fireplace that could actually still make calls. Alas, the only one was in Umbridge's office. Thankfully, they had gained a volunteer to distract the evil pink monstrosity. Gemma, her hell-on-wheels cousin Macha, and Macha's blond friend had somehow become implicated in the mess when Luna had shown up more or less out of nowhere. That said, Hermione figured that Ginny was the one responsible for inviting Luna, who was indeed reliable if occasionally incoherent. So, their current group was composed of the normal three, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and the two cousins (and the blond). Hermione was hoping to convince the younger girls (and the boy) to stay the hell behind, even if and especially because Harry's vision-nightmare directly pertained to the two girls.

Finally, they arrived at Umbridge's office. The pink monstrosity was missing, thanks to Macha's quiet brother, who was strangely adept at manufacturing problems that Umbridge believed. Gemma was given guard duty, which would buy them about a minute of time if Umbridge returned before they were finished. Neville was still a little nervous about all this cloak and dagger business, but he was more than happy to help. Luna's explanation for her involvement was a bit nonsensical, but Hermione was starting to understand that Luna was always slightly nonsensical. Also, from what she could tell, Luna just wanted to help her friends.

Harry managed to knock over various pink items as he searched for Floo Powder. Ron helped with the search at that point, and Hermione continued to consider how in the world they were going to explain themselves if they were caught. Also, what they would do if they weren't caught and Sirius really was captured. Hermione normally would be hesitant to do anything as crazy as try to fight off a group of adults, but they would be breaking into a government building, too. Then again, apparently there weren't many people there, at least according to Harry's vision.

Finally, Harry made the fire-call to Grimmauld Place. Hermione's heart sank when Sirius was not the one to answer. Instead, they were greeted with the more or less unpleasant face of Kreacher. The house elf had treated Hermione much better at Christmas than he had over the summer, but Hermione still wasn't quite sure why. Sirius had tried his best to convince Kreacher to treat her decently, but the house elf had been very reluctant to even listen to Sirius at the beginning. "Kreacher is wondering what Potter wants," the house elf said, suspicious. He was eyeing the other students in the room, as if trying to figure out if they were worthy. Although, worthy of what, Hermione didn't know.

"Where's Sirius?" Harry demanded, now a little frantic. It was to be expected. After all, they had expected Harry's godfather to be the one to answer the Floo. It belatedly occurred to Hermione that Sirius might be at his apartment or even down the hall, but she decided to keep her mouth shut in front of his niece about the latter possibility. Also Ron.

Kreacher stared at him in annoyance and muttered, "Of course the halfblood wonders where Master went. Does he ever want anything else? No. Of course not. No how are you Kreacher or any such formalities." Neville looked a little confused, which was honestly something to be expected. Luna on the other hand was taking everything in stride. What Kreacher must have assumed was out-loud, he declared, "Master is where the Death Eaters are. He has been gone for hours." Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. Now was the time for the rescue mission.

Harry looked stunned at Kreacher's declaration and was about to say something before Umbridge stormed into her office, clearly angry as hell. Both their guard and distraction were being led and followed by a couple of students from the Inquisitorial Squad. Draco, interestingly enough, was not among them. Hermione wondered why. Usually the ferret would jump at the opportunity to put Harry down. Hermione realized that due to the firecalling and the presence of members of the DA, this whole excursion could be interpreted by Umbridge as a plot crafted by Dumbledore. Hermione glanced back at the fire, where Kreacher had disappeared.

"I should have expected you, Mr. Potter, as well as your usual band of miscreants," Umbridge began as her stooges confiscated their wands. This was one of those times that Hermione wished that magic had come with superpowers, because heat-vision would have been very welcome in these circumstances. "Although I did not expect Miss White to be here. I was under the impression that you knew better than this, young lady."

Macha bristled and was about to snap back, but her brother shot a look at her that seemed to calm her down. Hermione was grateful. She didn't think she could deal with any hysterics at the moment, and that girl seemed like she was going to declare that, no, it made perfect sense, and if Umbridge thought otherwise, just think about who her dad and uncle were. Hermione would _definitely_ not been able to deal with that without the aid of superpowers.

A tall Slytherin seventh-year then appeared from seemingly nowhere and mentioned, "High Inquisitor, there's some trouble in Gryffindor. We tried to sort it out, but no one's listening. I know you're busy here, but—" The boy stopped talking when he realized that Umbridge was not interested in his explanations and neither was she likely to care.

After glaring at the boy, Umbridge turned back to Harry and the others and said, "You'll all be punished for this and likely expelled. I shall return shortly, and if any of you attempt to leave, I am sure we could figure out just which _laws_ you've broken." To the seventh-year, Umbridge ordered, "Make sure they don't go anywhere." She gathered the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad, including the ones that had arrived with the seventh-year, and departed after locking the lot of them in the office.

The seventh-year glared at them for about a minute, but suddenly he stopped and listened for anyone. Convinced no one was there, he gave them back what Umbridge had taken and unlocked the door. "I have no idea what is going on, nor do I want to know," he said. "However, that woman's finally gone off the deep end. Now get going before she realizes I lied my ass off."

"What about the others?" Hermione inquired, honestly confused as to why this guy was helping them. He was a seventh-year, in Slytherin, and part of the Inquisitorial Squad.

The seventh-year stared back at her in equal confusion and said, "You don't think everyone in the Squad likes Umbridge, do you? We're not evil, but we do know that some of our classmates haven't got the memo. Look, I don't know how much of a ruckus Jordan could have manufactured by now, but she's going to come back soon. _Now get going_."

Harry protested, "We're not going back to Gryffindor. We're on a rescue mission."

Leo stared at him like he was insane. Hermione had half a mind to agree with the younger boy, but she also had a duty to keep Harry from accidentally getting himself killed. "She left the Floo Powder in plain sight," Hermione realized, completely ignoring whatever Harry has said next. To Harry, she said, "The Slytherin's right. We need to go now, if we go at all."

Leo shook his head and said, "I'm sorry. I know he's my uncle, but… We should tell an adult about this, not go get ourselves stuck in a trap."

Hermione wished she had thought of that first, but she knew Harry was going to leave now that she reminded him of the Floo Powder. That said, having someone actually get in contact with adults who could do something was prudent. The Macha girl was about to go nuclear on her brother despite her friend's immediate attempt to calm her, but Hermione agreed, "You're right. Go tell McGonagall about everything, in the hopeful case that we're wrong."

The seventh year seemed to realize that there was something going on that he had unwittingly stumbled onto. "What the hell are you planning on doing, Potter? Challenging Voldemort to a duel to the death or something?" he demanded. Hermione liked this guy.

Ron interjected, "Um. Time? It's short?" Neville was nodding in agreement.

Gemma told her cousin, "Tell Mum what's going on." Leo nodded and bolted as fast as he could. His sister looked like she was about to go after him, but the seventh year shut the door suddenly. He grabbed a handful of the Floo Powder and shouted, "Diagon Alley!" before more or less pushing the others through as fast as he could.

Hermione landed in a heap on top of Ron, which was awkward as anything, especially considering that Ron was somewhat sprawled over Harry and Luna, who happened to have also had Neville trip over her and land on Gemma, with Macha and the blond somewhere underneath. The Slytherin arrived a couple minutes after Hermione, who'd been last through before him. The older boy stared at the collected heap of students and said, "I thought this was urgent?"

Harry glared at him, probably because the guy was a Slytherin and potentially stealing his thunder. He retorted, "It is! And what the hell was that about?"

"Umbridge was coming back," the Slytherin explained. "You were busy trying to get your acts together. Fuck, now I'm responsible for you lot. Goddammit."

Neville seemed antagonistic to the Slytherin when he said, "We don't need your help." Hermione had honestly never heard Neville turn down someone's help that abruptly before. Sure, none of them really got along with Slytherins, even if the Macha girl was one, but Neville wasn't usually the first one to initiate hostilities.

"Well, too damn bad, because you've got it," the seventh-year reminded him steely.

"Guys! Rescue mission!" Harry reminded them. He turned to the seventh-year and explained, "Here's the deal: you can stay here if you're going to keep picking fights. We don't need you anyway. We're going to the Ministry, because I hear Voldemort in my head occasionally, and he's going to kill my godfather if I don't do anything."

"Why the hell didn't you alert the Aurors?" the seventh-year demanded, apparently accepting the "I hear voices" portion of the argument in stride. "What the hell, Potter?"

Macha's friend spoke up at that point and said meekly, "Wolfe, we had just found out that Harry was right when Umbridge came in. And Leo is going to go do that, but what if they don't get there soon enough? I mean, surely we could take down one or two Death Eaters, right?" Hermione was surprised that the blond had worked up the courage to speak.

The Slytherin apparently named Wolfe just stared at the others and asked Hermione, "Are you seriously going along with this? I thought you were at the top of your class."

Hermione was surprised to be addressed by the seventh-year but replied, "Do you see any other option right now? You said so yourself—Umbridge is out of control. Do you think there was any other option than running off by ourselves? The teachers are going to have to go through her to make a call to the Aurors, and there's no way she would have believed Harry!" Hermione realized that was why she had really gone along with this mad scheme. There wasn't another way, at least not one that she could see.

Luna piped up and declared, "Chekov's gun, please be quiet. We need to make like a tree and leaf." She turned to Neville and admitted, "I don't particularly care for reindeer, either, but the dog and likely the cat are in trouble, probably without the kangaroo and platypus. We must make haste." Hermione turned to Gemma for a translation, but she and Ginny shrugged.

Harry, on the other hand, looked just as perplexed as the Slytherin Wolfe. Neville clearly felt bad about his animosity, but the blond still looked nervous. Ron agreed, "What she said."

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Accidents and chaos._


	60. The Long Black Veil

Barty often wondered how he managed to get himself into these situations. Here he was, in the middle of the Department of Mysteries (which was even more bizarre than he had imagined), hiding behind a cupboard full of time-turners, and trying to blast the Carrows into the next life. The only unbelievable part of the whole thing was that the Carrows honest-to-God didn't believe him when they demanded to know who he was. Thus, hiding behind a cupboard.

He had lost track of Dorcas ages ago. They had split up at the room with the brains that wouldn't die. She had decided that it was defensible, since no one would think to destroy the cases and thus be attacked by the brains that wouldn't die. Barty had chosen not to say anything. Of course, he was now stuck in the Time Room, if the plaque next to the door had anything to say about it. One of the Carrows was using what Barty assumed was a time-traveling phone booth for cover, and the other was using a desk covered with a strange blueprint of a Y as a defensible position. Barty had been hoping that the braintrust would have realized how bad an idea shooting curses at time-turners was, but alas he had overestimated the mental capacity of the Carrows yet again. "Are you two fucking insane?" Barty demanded over the din of the clocks. "Do you have any idea what happens when you break a time-turner?"

"You're going to find out!" Amycus declared as he sent a curse at Barty. Thankfully, he was the one hiding behind the desk with the better shot at Barty, so given that Barty ducked at the right time, it was unlikely that Amycus would hit him or the time-turners. Alecto, on the other hand…

Barty was pinned down in this damned corner, and he was emphatically not going to get showered in time-turner dust and propelled who knows where through space and time. With his luck, he would end up stuck in a wholly unpleasant place and time, like London during the Black Death or the Roman Republic. Actually, cross that off. The Roman Republic had potential; brothels had been legal, if he remembered correctly. Anyway, that wasn't particularly relevant at the moment, Barty reflected as he sent a curse in Alecto's direction. That woman never let go of a grudge, which was why Barty was inclined to believe she did know he was in fact himself.

Unfortunately, Amycus took the opportunity to clip Barty's arm with some spell. He hadn't been sure what it was until he realized his arm had gone completely numb. Thankfully, it wasn't the one he dueled with. That gave him an opportunity to fight back while Amycus thought he was actually incapacitated. Barty was in the middle of shouting out a cutting curse when he stopped abruptly.

Why in the name of God were there children here?

It was that blond kid and the space cadet, Luna. For a split second, Barty considered trying to tell them to run the fuck away, but he realized that their presence was indicative of something far worse. If the blond kid was here, then Reg's daughter was here. Since any child of his best friend's would likely think things through at least somewhat, the girl had likely tagged along with a larger group that Luna Lovegood was involved with. Lovegood hadn't really seemed to have any friends from what he remembered, but the Weasley girl hadn't disliked her. If there was a Weasley involved, then—This was a trap.

As Barty realized their stupidity, Alecto caught him in the chest with a cutting curse. She had waited until he had lowered his guard and strayed into her line of sight away from the time-turners. Maybe she wasn't as stupid as he thought.

The children seemed to realize they had wandered into a war zone at that point, thankfully, and Lovegood dragged the blond kid under a desk with her to take cover. (At least one person in the room had a working sense of self-preservation.)

Making a snap decision, Barty realized he couldn't win this battle if he kept up with the superhero-esque practice of stunning. He flung himself away from the cover of the time-turner cupboard and towards where Amycus was. Alecto didn't have a clear shot at him yet, but Barty almost had one at Amycus. Gritting his teeth in an attempt to ignore the searing pain, Barty army-crawled the rest of the way to where Amycus was. He was honestly stunned that he did take Amycus by surprise, given how long he had not been where Amycus clearly thought he was.

Barty felt a twinge of guilt as he cast the killing curse, but it faded quickly. After all, he had been one of them long enough to know what sort of monsters they were. Alecto clearly thought that Amycus could deal with a wounded Barty, forgetting how ruthless Barty could be when he put his mind to it. That trait if nothing else Barty admitted he shared with his father.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Alecto said in a sing-song, having noticed the children when she had cursed Barty. She had her back to him at this point, but Barty wanted to make sure he had a clear shot. He would hate himself if either of the children died because he tried to kill Alecto and missed. She wouldn't hesitate to kill both of them. In what world could two children that likely hadn't gone through puberty yet hold off a fully trained witch for any amount of time?

Barty took a deep breath and stood. He then shouted, "Hey, Alecto!" She turned to face him in astonishment, and he spared no time in taking advantage of her surprise. Her body fell to the floor with a dull thud, and Barty let himself breath easier for the time being.

Luna took the opportunity to stand and say, "Thank you, Professor Platypus." She paused for a moment while the blond kid stood and stared at the dead body barely two meters away from him. "Are you on a rescue mission, too? Or did Harry get sent bad brainwaves?"

Barty decided to just ignore her decision to call him 'platypus', like he had two years ago when she had first named him that. Even then, he had the vague feeling she wasn't completely sane, although he had heard weirder. "I wasn't, actually. We're after something Voldemort has that needs to be destroyed. What do you mean by Potter being sent bad brainwaves?"

The blond kid answered, obviously glad to have a distraction from the dead body. "Harry had a dream that Professor Black had been caught by the Death Eaters," he explained. "Apparently he has a direct link to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in his brain or something."

Barty glanced over at Carrow and said, "You know what, why don't we get you two somewhere safe?" He walked over to the two of them and escorted them out of the room. Barty ran a list of places in the Ministry that would likely be safe for now. It would take them far too long to get to the DMLE, and who knew what would be waiting for them there. There were rooms there that were more than easily defensible, but he had no idea how many Death Eaters were on their way.

Unwilling to stay in the hallway, Barty opened the first door he came across and shoved the kids in ahead of him. He realized that this was not the best course of events because despite the fact that there were indeed no Death Eaters in the room, they were in outer space. Of course the Department of Mysteries would keep a space room. Why wouldn't they?

The blond kid looked a little nauseated in the zero gravity, and Barty had to admit that he didn't really blame the kid. "This room is a little odd," Luna declared.

Barty remembered suddenly, "Say, doesn't your father work here? Do you know where a decently safe place would be in the Department? This isn't a place for kids right now."

"Why are the Death Eaters here?" the blond kid complained, albeit with good reason.

"John, silence," Luna said. She bit her lip before she decided, "This place should be safe enough. John and I can take care of ourselves for a bit. Are Mr. and Professor Black here, too?"

Barty nodded distractedly. So. This had been a trap for Potter. He should have known Rudolphus had an ulterior motive. Of course Sirius would run to the Department of Ministries when he learned that Potter was here, but that wasn't reason enough to convince Sirius to go to the Death Eater headquarters. It did, however, get Sirius out of the way and out of reach, which meant that Potter would draw the conclusion that something was wrong. However, Rudolphus likely thought that whatever they had been looking for would actually be found at Headquarters. Barty swore. The potential betrayal was then unintentional. To the girl, Barty asked, "Did you alert anyone of what was going on? Please tell me you didn't just rush here."

Luna blinked slowly as she wore her all-seeing expression and explained, "The lion ran to the huntress and McGoogles. Or vice versa. I can only assume the unwashed and the masses are on their way."

"I'm sure Severus appreciates your assessment of him," Barty commented, still trying to figure out what to do. Lovegood seemed more or less on control of herself, but the kid—John, apparently—was not doing so well under pressure. He had a decision to make, Barty realized. Either he put protecting the kids first or he tried to warn the others. Merlin, that kid was terrified. Barty made his decision and said, "Lovegood, this room isn't good enough. There are multiple exits and I assume you've already noticed its resemblance to the final frontier. This place is near indefensible. We're staying away from the Death Room and the Hall of Prophecy, which I know have more safeguards on them. However, you have to have an idea of where to go."

"There are some offices a couple halls back," Luna said, clearly trying to think of a place.

"Whose offices? Sub-directors? The Director?" Barty prompted.

"The Director's office," Luna decided. "That's where Moneypenny is."

Barty raised an eyebrow. "Mona Pendragon still works here?" he repeated. "Damn. She's been around since my father was head of the DMLE." He shook his head ruefully before remembering the situation. "All right, then. I'm taking the two of you there," Barty told them. Luna nodded, but John looked like he wasn't really processing anything. He frowned and felt immediately silly for feeling the urge to pick the kid up and try to calm him down. Barty knelt in front of the boy and said gently, "Hey, kid, we might have to go back through the room with the clocks, all right? I don't want us to go anywhere near the Hall of Prophecy, but I think it's the other way out of this room."

The kid chose to cling to Barty for whatever reason, and Barty decided to hell with it and picked the kid up. Obviously, the child was seriously not able to cope with any of what was going on. To Luna, Barty asked her for directions. The girl told him approximately where they needed to go. Barty was familiar enough with the layout of the Department of Mysteries to be able to get them to there.

The office was easy enough to break into, thankfully. Barty quickly surveyed the room, and, convinced everything was more or less all right, he went to set the boy down. However, the kid wouldn't let go. Honestly, Barty wasn't much surprised. "C'mon, kid. Everything's going to be okay," Barty murmured soothingly. The kid hugged him even tighter and buried his face in Barty's shoulder. "Shhh… It's okay." Barty was somewhat bamboozled by the fact that the gash in his chest was still bleeding and the kid clearly didn't give a damn he was getting a bit covered in blood. After another couple minutes, Barty realized the kid had managed to fall asleep.

Luna was staring at him with a strange look on her face. "The platyroo seems to have imprinted," she commented serenely.

Barty furrowed his eyebrows. What in the hell? This girl barely made sense. Platyroo? _Really?_ What in the name of God was a—Holy fucking shit.

* * *

Renaud Wolfe was terrified. The crazy blonde chick was finally gone from the brain room. That Death Eater was honestly one of the most terrifying people he'd ever been inconvenienced to meet. He'd kept the two girls who had bizarrely enough followed him instead of the Golden Trio away from the madwoman's line of sight. Longbottom had come along for some bizarre reason. The kid didn't seem to like him much and was unwilling to leave the two girls alone with him. The White cousins kept their heads about them despite the fact that they were in danger. Longbottom was even keeping a cooler head than Renaud.

He was not made for this sort of thing. Why in the world had he decided to go with these lunatics? There was no reason for it! Renaud was scared to death that this was going to end poorly. If any of these kids got hurt, it would be on his head. He was the adult here. What in the name of Merlin had been going on in his mind when he came with these people?

"We should follow her," the girl Gemma declared. She made to go, but Longbottom thankfully grabbed her arm before she stood up from her hiding spot.

Renaud heard someone coming. There were two voices, a man and a woman. The man seemed to be talking placidly, but the woman was raving. There was something about the woman's voice he really did not like. He had no idea what it was, but he wanted to turn and run. Longbottom seemed to have the same idea. To the kid, Renaud whispered, "Get the girls out of here. There are more Death Eaters coming. I'll try to stall them."

Longbottom looked at him sideways and muttered, "Oh, really? You meeting up with your parents?"

Renaud bristled. There was no reason for Longbottom to be treating him this way. He had done nothing to the kid! Why the hell was he so angry? That said, no one slandered his parents and got away with it. Renaud growled, "How dare you! My mum and dad would rather be caught dead than join these fucking madmen."

Longbottom's face softened at that for some reason. Glancing at the girls, he murmured, "Do your best, but don't get yourself killed. Don't—don't piss the woman off." He then turned to the two girls and managed to convince them to leave the brain room with him in the direction that the blonde Death Eater had taken. The three of them left.

Renaud walked over to the door and shut it. He heard the man and woman walk into the room behind him and he tensed. This was quite possibly the stupidest thing Renaud had done in his entire life. He turned slowly and instantly regretted it. Oh, God…

"Lookie what we have here!" Bellatrix Lestrange said in a sing-song.

Rudolphus Lestrange looked unimpressed. "Bella, we really don't have any time for this," he reminded her. "We are supposed to find Potter, remember? We need him to take the Prophecy and for the Dark Lord to finally eliminate. We don't need to bother with a child."

Renaud nodded in agreement. Bellatrix Lestrange turned to stare at him because of that, and Renaud tried to find some words to convince her that he knew nothing, but no words would come out of his mouth. He started to hyperventilate and look for something to hide behind.

Bellatrix Lestrange lazily cast a spell to freeze Renaud in where he stood. She practically skipped over to him and commanded, "Tell me what you know." He had never really believed people when they said that this woman seemed possessed, but now he did. Her eyes were entirely mad. "What do you think I should do, Rudy? Should I flay him alive, piece by piece?"

Renaud felt himself begin to tear up. Oh, God, he was practically an adult, and boys weren't supposed to cry. He knew he wasn't going to get any pity from Bellatrix, so he chanced looking to her husband for something, anything. "Please, I don't know anything," Renaud cried.

Rudolphus Lestrange stayed silent and simply observed Renaud without making even a movement. Bellatrix glanced at her husband and giggled. "You think he'll show you mercy? Didn't you hear what we did to the Longbottoms?" she asked him and laughed maniacally.

Renaud repeated that he didn't know anything, but Bellatrix Lestrange didn't seem to be listening. She walked around him, sizing him up. "I don't believe you," she sing-songed. She grinned wickedly and cast the Cruciatus on him. Renaud screamed. He didn't know that this kind of pain existed. When he could finally feel again, the freezing spell had worn off and Renaud collapsed to the floor. "I don't know anything," he mewled.

Something in Rudolphus Lestrange's eyes changed, and he said, "Bella, stop. He's just a child. He probably has no idea what's going on."

Bellatrix laughed and cast a cutting curse at Renaud. It hit him in the shoulder. He was dimly aware that it hurt and that he was bleeding everywhere. Why in the hell had he gone along with this? Oh, God, what were they going to tell his parents? He was going to die here, and…

"Bellatrix, leave the boy alone!" Rudolphus shouted, physically stopping her from casting the killing curse on Renaud.

Furious, Bellatrix slapped her husband and took her wand back from him. "How dare you!" she shouted. "How dare you! The brat deserves this! Just like—"

"Your cousin has nothing to do with this, Bella, and you bloody well know it!" Rudolphus shouted back at her. "If you stopped for one moment to think straight, you'd realize that! The boy has no bloody reason to lie! Yes, he probably came with Potter here, but knowing this damned place, he probably got separated!"

Renaud was confused. What in the hell was going on? Maybe it was just the blood loss talking, but nothing was making any sense. He moaned in pain, and bizarrely enough, Rudolphus Lestrange glanced down at him in concern. "Bella, did you even stop to think that maybe the boy was trying to keep Potter from doing something contrary to _our_ interests? He's a Slytherin and likely a pureblood. Do you want to explain to some loyal pureblood family when this is all over why their son—maybe even their heir—is dead?" Rudolphus Lestrange demanded of his wife.

"You've gone soft," Bellatrix accused. "Once upon a time, you would have killed the child for the glory of the Dark Lord without pause."

"No, Bella. I wouldn't have. I might have killed a combatant for the Cause, but not a defenseless and likely pureblooded child without good reason," Rudolphus Lestrange corrected. "If it was the spawn of blood traitors, then maybe. But otherwise, never." Renaud failed to see how that was any better, but Lestrange was arguing for him. So, Renaud kept his mouth shut.

Bellatrix Lestrange snorted in disbelief and began to say something else in a hiss, but Renaud didn't hear the rest of it. Later, he would realize he had passed out when he woke to the face of a girl with bright pink hair and a very worried expression on her face. He was still delirious at that point, though, and he couldn't make out what she said to the tall black Auror standing next to her. Oh, she was an Auror, too, wasn't she?

"We'll get you to the hospital soon. Just hang on, all right?" the pretty pink girl said reassuringly. She had given him a makeshift bandage and moved him over to the side of the room not occupied by the brain tank. He could tell by the smear of blood on the floor. The Auror cast a spell on him that made the pain go away a bit and made him sleepy again.

The pink girl and the other Auror left, and Renaud drifted back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dorcas figured she had finally caught up to Bambi and his friends. The only reason that had even happened was because she had finally become bored watching the brains and wandered into the Hall of Prophecy. There, she had found a gaggle of Death Eaters, as expected. Unexpectedly, she had found four children wandering into the gaggle. Apparently the near-clone of James was in fact Bambi. Dorcas had managed to fight the Death Eaters off long enough to get the three children away from the sociopaths trying to kill them.

In the hallway, she turned to Bambi and inquired, "What exactly do you think you're doing here, young man? This is not how you behave." She did have a duty as his godmother, after all. "You alert adults before you go on rescue missions unlikely to succeed."

Bambi stared at her, confused. The redhead was likewise confuzzled, but the girl spoke first. "Who _are_ you?" she demanded.

"Dorcas Meadowes," Dorcas explained, leading the somewhat dull trio around the Department of Mysteries. She felt for the sheath at her side, just to make sure the sword was still there. The snake had to be wandering around here somewhere, and she wanted to be alert.

"Are you an Auror?" the redhead asked, suspicious of her.

Dorcas abruptly stopped and turned on her heel to face the three children. "I was, but currently I'm only part of the Order of the Phoenix. Now, we can further discuss my political views later, but this is a trap for you, in case you have already forgot what those dumbasses so kindly informed you just now," she declared.

Bambi scrunched together his eyebrows and realized, "Mad-Eye mentioned you. He said you were dead, that you got killed in the last war."

Dorcas laughed and reminded him, "The Ministry also says Reg and Barty have been dead for a decade and a half, but that's not the same, is it? No, you're too smart for that justification, yeah? Well, I'm sure you've been wondering who has been driving Sirius up a wall." There was a light of recognition in Bambi's eyes, so Dorcas pressed on, "That would be me. I've been staying at our old apartment. We used to share it with Remus and Frank, too. Sirius would have mentioned that if he ever talked about me."

"I guess you're who you say you are," Bambi said hesitantly.

"You're more aggravating than your father on a particularly bad day," Dorcas commented blithely as she led the kids to a new room that she hoped was a safe haven. Dorcas hoped that it was not the room with the Brains That Would Not Die. She had spent too long in there. Besides, the conversation was boring.

The moment she opened the door, a curse almost hit her. Out of reflex, Dorcas cast a flurry of offensive spells, which were responded to in kind. Well aware that she had to keep the three kids from doing something stupid like getting in the middle of a wizard's duel between her and some random Death Eater, Dorcas decided to just say fuck it. When the Death Eater paused to draw another breath, Dorcas shouted, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" and was done with it.

Bambi, Thumper, and Princess Leia were staring at Dorcas like she had done something wrong. "What? Did you think I was going to fight him for ages and possibly get you lot killed? What do you think I am, an idiot?" she asked them, shaking her head.

Dorcas wandered into the room. The three still followed her and shut the door behind them. Despite the fact that this space place was most pleasing, Dorcas could tell that it would be indefensible. The antigravity charm prevented any real traction and brought any duel to three dimensions instead of effectively two. You could have high ground, but the only cover would be facsimiles of the solar planets. The problem could have been mitigated by having only one entrance, but there were two, and Dorcas quite frankly didn't have the energy to get the kids to properly defend the room.

Floating over to the corpse in the middle of the room, Dorcas swore. Well, Remus and Sirius were going to be very angry with her. Maybe the best course of action would be to pretend she had no idea who had killed whoever had been in the space room. Yes, that sounded good.

Dorcas nudged the body with her foot, just to be sure that she had indeed accidentally killed the Death Eater. Since there was no response, Dorcas assumed the worst. On the bright side, though, Remus and Sirius would only be vaguely annoyed at her for a while. They wouldn't have done to Dorcas what she assumed they were planning on doing to the meatbag on the floor.

Dorcas looked up and realized that Bambi and his crew were staring at her. To head off disaster, she told them, "This did not happen. I was not here. You did not see this happen, okay? I don't want to get mauled by one of my best friends because I accidentally did this. It would be gruesome, and I'm sure Remus would never forgive himself, even if he didn't regret killing me, but that's just Remus being Remus. I don't want to know what Sirius's reaction would be. Either it would be, you know, taking pity on me after I've suffered the aforementioned mauling or killing me and bringing me back to life and killing me again. He's threatened that before, and I more or less believe him when he says he'd do it."

"You killed Wormtail," Bambi managed.

"No, I didn't, Bambi. Remember, we weren't here," Dorcas corrected. She decided to ignore Princess Leia and Thumper exchanging one of those looks that Lily and Marlene used to, back when they had been in school and Dorcas had said something similar. Dorcas stopped thinking about that, because otherwise she was inclined to go ask Sirius to raise Pettigrew from the dead so they could kill him over and over and over and over, because it was that rat bastard's fault that Lily was dead, and you know, Lily had been one of Dorcas's best friends, so she had a right to exact vengeance from Pettigrew. Her claim on revenge was just as legit as Remus's or Sirius's. So fuck it. If they couldn't deal, then they couldn't deal, but Dorcas was free.

"I saw them come in here!" a voice shouted from the Prophecy Room.

Dorcas swore, but the kids seemed to have decoded her message. It took some doing, but they all managed to swim to the other side of the room. Outside the door was a sight for sore eyes. "Nymphy! Thank the gods!" Dorcas exclaimed. She handed Bambi, Thumper, and Princess Leia off to her minion. "I need to go make Voldie mortal. Can you look after them? Thanks," Dorcas said in rapid fire before running off.

Okay, so she probably should have been protecting Harry, but Dorcas had just remembered two very important things. One: Voldemort was still immortal, and Dorcas still had the sword. Two: Merlin knew Regulus and Sirius would have no idea they had walked into a trap that they weren't meant to spring. They would spring it anyway. This Dorcas knew.

* * *

Regulus had a sneaking feeling that Voldemort was nowhere in the Department of Mysteries. There was something off, and he just couldn't put his finger on it. The Plan was fuzzy in his memory, but he was sure that it had involved Voldemort's presence.

Feeling more tired than he should, Regulus leaned against one of the stacks in the Hall of Prophecy. The room was too damned large. He could have sworn he'd heard something at the other end, near the door to the room with the planets, but Regulus figured he had been hearing things. A rat could have sounded like a minotaur in the echo-chamber the Hall was.

That's when he heard the scream. It came from the Death Chamber. That room was the next to last place Regulus Black wanted to be on the face of the Earth, and he cursed himself for going to see what was wrong. When he ran through the doors, he realized that at the moment it was also the last place on Earth he wanted to be. But that was not all that the Fates had in store for him. He didn't know how it had happened, but for some Godforsaken reason, Bellatrix was in the same room with his daughter. An angry Bellatrix, at that. Gods, Gemma was there, too. How in the hell had this happened?

Bellatrix had pinned the girls between her and the Veil and was making her usual comments and insults, occasionally throwing a curse to one side of them and the other, just to make sure they weren't going anywhere. Regulus didn't even think as he ran over to the dias and shouted his cousin's name to distract her. The psychopathic bitch turned, completely unconcerned, and commented, "I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance, Reggie. Now, let me deal with this, so be a good boy and wait, will you?"

"Don't you dare touch my daughter," Regulus growled, drawing his wand. He managed to catch Gemma's attention and nodded towards the exit while Bellatrix was laughing at him and thus ignoring him. The girl seemed to understand what he wanted her to do, even if Macha was frozen in terror.

"I'm sorry, cousin, that's just too rich," Bellatrix commented as she calmed herself down from her laughing fit. "You really think you could stop me?" Gemma had managed to get Macha moving, and they were about halfway to the door, but the girl stopped in her tracks for some reason. "Last time I checked, you couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag, let alone pose some sort of threat to me."

Slowly sidestepping to put himself between the girls and Bellatrix, Regulus replied steely, "I'm not completely useless in combat, Bella."

"Oh, you are just too predictable, cousin!" Bellatrix laughed. "Do you really think I give a damn about your halfblood brat? Why do you think I chased after the girl? There's a mudblood about, after all, and I have higher priorities than eradicating the impure. For example, executing traitors. I expect your brother should arrive in less than five minutes, if your mongrel manages to do her job properly and run to uncle as soon as she can. What shall we do while we wait…?"

Regulus responded with a blasting curse directed at the ground in front of Bellatrix. She raised an arm to protect her eyes from the shrapnel, and Regulus followed the first spell up with some easily deflectable hexes. She was going to underestimate him, so he would best take advantage and make her think he was worse at dueling than he was.

Bellatrix's first counterattack was to throw a cutting curse at him. Regulus dodged, barely, yet still received a cut on his uninjured arm for his efforts. Knowing his momentum would have caused him to lose balance, Bellatrix cast a siphon spell where he landed. If he had felt tired before, he couldn't even stand now.

Bellatrix was walking over with a smirk on her face, and Regulus waited until she was about a yard away before he sent a cutting curse at her. She deflected it, which he hadn't necessarily expected, but she couldn't deflect the next curse he hit her with.

Apparently, though, he didn't hate her as much as he thought he did, because while she briefly turned white as a sheet, she began to laugh again. Mockingly, Bellatrix asked, "Did Reggie enjoy trying to cast grown-up spells?" She tsked and mentioned, "You might have done better trying the Killing Curse rather than the Cruciatus, you know. At least then I would have a nosebleed."

That was when Regulus kicked her feet out from underneath her. Sure, she was a better magical duelist, but he was better at hand-to-hand. Why hadn't he tried this before? Bellatrix stumbled and fell over, allowing Regulus time to roll out from the area she had cast the siphon. He scrambled to his feet, keeping his wand trained on her and slowly began to back away. She sent four curses at him in quick succession. Regulus put up a shield as quickly as he could. Three of them reflected away harmlessly, but the final one caught Regulus in the chest. He stumbled back in shock.

That was when he remembered the Veil was behind him.

* * *

Running through the halls of the Department of Mysteries, Sirius felt uneasy. He had just left the mad scientist lair and was backtracking to the entrance to the department. Kingsley had informed him via patronus that Harry in all his messianic glory had embarked on a quest to save Sirius from Voldemort. Apparently. Sirius didn't have the energy to be angry; he was too busy being worried out of his mind. Hopefully he would be able to find the kids before they arrived at the Department of Mysteries.

Sirius knew now what had really been planned. Harry was the target of this scheme, not the Prophecy itself. That was likely just a bonus. Everything had clicked after Kingsley had explained _why_ Harry had run off to the Ministry. Snape had said he had attempted to teach Harry occlumency, and Sirius cursed himself for not volunteering for that task in the first place. Dumbledore had thought it better that Snape teach Harry, and while Sirius had been inclined to list each and every reason against it, he had somewhat understood Dumbledore's decision.

Wondering again why Harry hadn't tried to contact him via the two-way mirror, Sirius waited impatiently for the elevator. Listening to the grating elevator music, a thought entered his mind. He searched his pockets and realized he had left the mirror at his apartment. Of course, he had. Cursing his stupidity, Sirius remembered that he had done that intentionally. After all, the worst plan in the world would have been to bring the mirror and fallen into a trap set by Rudolphus that resulted in almost _this exact scenario_.

Sirius took the most direct route from the elevator to the Atrium and saw no sign of the kids. He repeated this for each entrance he knew of and even the more labyrinthine methods of finding the elevators or the stairs. Finding no one, he ran back to the Atrium and started to panic in earnest. The kids had to be downstairs, then. He was already too late to stop them, and even worse, he had gone in the exact wrong direction to actually find them.

Swearing profusely, he began to run back to the elevators when Tonks shouted for him to wait up. Sirius stopped and saw that the cavalry had arrived. While Dorcas probably thought she could take on the whole lot of Death Eaters downstairs, Sirius was damned glad for the backup. The elevator ride down was tense and crowded, although Sirius had to admit he was glad that Mad-Eye was in another elevator. Being stuffed into a corner was bad enough, but having Mad-Eye give one of his St. Crispin's Day speeches was a bit too much for Sirius to handle right now.

Once back in the Department of Mysteries, they all split up. Tonks and Kingsley went for the room Dorcas had entered, and Remus and Hestia went into the Time Room. Sirius didn't keep track of any of the others after that and instead sprinted to the hall where he and Regulus had split up. Dorcas and Barty were going to be informed of the situation when the others found them shortly, so that left Reg. The room Sirius entered was almost mundane compared to the others. It looked to be a storage space for various relics and artifacts such as one could find in a museum. There was an entire cabinet devoted to the Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain. And the Golden Fleece? Why wasn't that in Greece? There was a strangely familiar looking—holy shit, was that a copy of the Book of Thoth? Sirius revised his original theory that Regulus would have left this place. This was the equivalent of catnip for him.

"Reg? Where the hell are you?" Sirius said, wandering around the archive. He didn't hear a response, but he did hear someone move. From back the way he came. Regulus would have announced himself by now, given that Sirius had actually demanded where the hell he was. Just in case, he walked into one of the aisles and waited. There was nothing interesting in this aisle that Sirius could identify, which was lucky, since he didn't want some sort of accident happening when spells started to be flung.

The footsteps started to lighten, probably because the Death Eater didn't want to alert Sirius. He knelt down next to a larger artefact that blocked view of him from the direction the steps were coming. Sirius was able to pinpoint the direction from which the Death Eater was coming from on the left. Whoever this was definitely knew how to be subtle. Sirius suspected one of the smarter ones, like Rookwood or Mulciber, who were more cautious about fighting Sirius than Bellatrix or one of the others with a vendetta against him, such as Rowle or Travers.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius waited. Then, he heard the Death Eater misstep. Sirius chanced looking above his cover. Rookwood was the one. Damn. Mulciber was easier to duel. When Rookwood stepped into Sirius's line of fire, he attacked. He started with a cutting curse directed at Rookwood's hand. Sirius had to dodge a curse he was happier not recognizing.

Rookwood dodged backward out of Sirius's line of sight, but Sirius lunged in the direction towards him and sent another couple hexes and curses at Rookwood. The Death Eater was hit by a couple of them before he put up a shield and struck back at Sirius. Sirius managed to scramble back into the cover of the artefact rack, only getting hit in his ankle by a cutting curse. Sirius stood up and shot at Rookwood's feet; it set him off-balance, which gave Sirius the needed window to stun the bastard. Sirius couldn't help but laugh in relief when the spell hit Rookwood. Something was going well today, if nothing else was.

Sirius cast _incarcerous_ and dragged Rookwood over to one of the less dangerous areas of the artefact room. The Death Eater would be unconscious for the next couple hours, assuming no one cast _rennervate_ on Rookwood and Sirius's stunners still worked that well. Considering the circumstances, Sirius realized Regulus had to have left the room before the Death Eaters started showing up. Rookwood was the only body in the room, unconscious or otherwise. Unless Reg was… Sirius ran out of the door and into the back hallway. Regulus might have figured out what was going on the moment the Death Eaters started showing up. He would have listened for anything, especially since he was damned set on killing that damn snake.

In any case, Regulus was probably screwed six ways to Sunday, which for Reggie was an improvement. Sirius knew Regulus was an adult and could take care of himself. Right. Sirius set off to the Hall of Prophecy to look for Harry. He skidded to a halt when he heard some voices. Thankfully, the room was like a freaking echo chamber, so he could hear what they were saying even though they seemed to be on the other end of the room. Apparently Dorcas was with the kids, thank Merlin. She would defend them with her life, and Sirius knew that Dorcas had no qualm with using deadly force.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief until he heard the next words the Death Eaters said. His daughter was in the Death Chamber with Bellatrix. …As was his niece? Sirius swore mentally. His brother would have run there immediately if he heard the same thing. Bellatrix had set a trap for Regulus within the trap intended for Harry. Damn her to hell!

Sirius ran into the Death Chamber and saw only Bellatrix standing near the Veil. Had Sirius miscalculated? Maybe…

"Dear cousin! What took you so long?" Bellatrix asked cheerfully. "I've missed you these past three years! There's no one to talk to at all in Azkaban, save Rudy, and we both know how much of a bore he is."

"Where is my brother?" Sirius demanded, his voice as hard as steel. He knew she was going to milk this conversation for all it was worth, and his patience was already sorely tested.

Bellatrix laughed and mentioned, "I figured you would have realized. He still dependent on you for solving all his problems?" She looked off behind her and shrugged in her usual way.

"Why the hell couldn't you have left him alone?" Sirius growled.

"Oh, cousin, cousin, cousin," Bellatrix admonished. "You and I both know that I had to eliminate any threat to the Cause. He betrayed it, so he had to die."

Sirius's face blanched. "What…?" he murmured, in shock, almost dropping his wand in the process. "You… you didn't," he said, glancing over at the Veil.

Bellatrix only grinned.

Sirius saw red and attacked. His spellwork was all over the place, and honestly he wasn't surprised. But, he didn't care, either. She clipped him with some spells that shouldn't have gotten through, Sirius had to admit. However, he hated working with a shield. It more difficult to work with than without, and Sirius couldn't be bothered, especially not now.

Bellatrix laughed at him as the duel wore on. He realized his temper was getting the better of him, but he was not going to let Bellatrix get away this time. She—Sirius's eyes widened in surprise as the curse hit him solidly in his chest, over his right lung. He gasped for breath, realizing what she had cast. Doubling over, he tried to remember a counter-curse. When his vision blacked out, Sirius heard Bellatrix say, "Yes, cousin? Do you need help?"

He still couldn't breathe, and then Bellatrix cast a cutting curse at his side and lifted the suffocation hex. As his vision cleared, he saw Bellatrix standing over him with a smirk on her face and asked, ever-sufferingly, "Why must you be so ornery, Sirius?"

Sirius snarled, "You murdered my brother!"

Bellatrix laughed and said disparagingly, "I'd think before I spoke, Siri." She kicked him in the in the side, near where she had cast the cutting curse. Sirius shouted in pain and curled up to protect his side from another kick. She laughed and told him, "You know, you're far less of a pushover than your brother in some ways, but, Merlin, do you never shut up."

Sirius glared at her and grabbed her leg out from under her. She flailed backwards, and Sirius cast a cutting curse at her. He almost stunned her, but he stopped himself. He wanted her to suffer. Standing, he backed up from where Bellatrix stood again. She had a gash on her thigh, but it didn't seem to bother her. Sirius was just glad that he had hit her. She deserved some pain.

Bellatrix seemed to notice something about Sirius, and then he realized what she had seen. His ankle was injured, and his movement was impaired. Sirius grimaced as Bellatrix sent some cutting and blasting curses at him, but as he tried to dodge one, he was hit by one of the others, a blasting curse in particular hit his knee. As he collapsed to the floor, he realized she was playing with him, pure and simple. There was no way he was going to be able to fight her now. He could offer some resistance, but he was not going to be able to avenge… She cast _silencio_ and _incarcerous_ on him, just to be sure. "Oh, don't worry, Siri," Bellatrix mentioned lightly. "We can finish this later. I have other business, after all. I have a Chosen One to kill, you know!"

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: Vengeance and dead people.  
_


	61. The Petty King

Barty had left the two children in that office when he heard the sounds of battle. If the Order was fighting, then the two kids would be safe enough in the office as long as Luna did as she said and locked the door behind him. So. Things he needed to do. First, he needed to find Dorcas; she would have a better chance of warning Idiots #1 and #2. Second, he needed to find someone respectable in the Order of the Phoenix to escort Luna and the blond kid to safety. No, there were better ways to do this. Black wouldn't have left that mad-scientist lab as much as Regulus wouldn't have left the archives.

Shit. They weren't there anymore, were they? Of course not. The moment Black heard fighting, he would have investigated, and Regulus would have found a reason to leave the archives. Racing along the main hall regardless, Barty decided that his best course of action would be making sure the kids were safe, so he was going to actively search for people in the Order. Since Black was likely gone from the mad-scientist lab, that was a decent place to start.

As soon as he opened the door, Barty had to dive behind a cabinet for the second time that day in order to not be hit by the crossfire. It sounded like there were some Order people near the opposite door, so the Death Eaters were probably closer to him. Barty chanced peering around the corner of the cabinet. There were three Death Eaters to the right of him, and two Order people were pinned near the other door. After another couple of volleys at the Death Eaters, the two retreated through that door.

With the Death Eaters distracted, Barty attacked. He managed to clip one of them in the leg with a cutting curse and the other in the shoulder with a blasting curse. In response, the uninjured third attacked Barty, and he dodged behind the cabinet. That Death Eater—MacNair—returned fire almost immediately and shouted for the other two to chase after the retreating Order members. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," the sociopath said, creeping towards the cabinet. He was making what was actually an unholy racket, even if he thought that it was subtle.

Barty somersaulted out from cover in the opposite direction from where MacNair was trying to sneak up on him. He surprised MacNair with a couple curses, only a couple of which hit, although looking at Macnair he wouldn't have been able to tell. The bastard sent about an equal number of curses at Barty, but none of them hit, thanks to the lab bench he was hiding behind. Waiting for MacNair to begin his creeping again, Barty jumped out from behind cover and flat-out used the killing curse. MacNair seemed surprised, but he died anyway.

Barty sighed. Now he had to go find Order people again.

"Who's there?" a grouchy voice demanded.

The hair on the back of Barty's neck rose. Oh, shit. That was why the Order people had been fighting two against two and MacNair. Barty walked towards the voice and found Mad-Eye on the floor, near that other door. The crotchety bastard was mortally wounded, which explained how he would have been able to convince the others to leave him. "Moody," Barty started.

However, the moment Barty spoke, Mad-Eye glared at him and growled, "Crouch." Barty didn't dare speak until Mad-Eye spoke his piece if only because of the death-glare of which he was on the receiving end. The old man coughed up blood and demanded, "You killed MacNair?" Barty nodded, and Mad-Eye surprisingly laughed and said, "Good. Guess you're not useless."

Barty was strangely unwilling to just leave the cantankerous old man to die alone. He knelt down next to Mad-Eye and haltingly asked, "Which one of them got you? I didn't see who the other Death Eaters were, but…"

Mady-Eye looked at him questioningly and said, amused, "Are you offering to avenge me?" He laughed, which turned into coughing, but Mad-Eye did manage, "At least I'll die laughing. God in heaven, I sure as fuck didn't expect a fucking weird send-off when I kicked it."

At the look of combined confusion and horror from Barty, Mad-Eye said, "So it goes, eh, Crouch?" He laughed again and explained, "I never expected you to actually have fucking switched sides." Gesturing at the corpse, Mad-Eye continued, "That's the sort of thing your father would've done, back during the war. 'E wasn't always a fucking bastard. That shit with Grindelwald fucked 'im up, and he was a fucking hard man afterwards. Seemed to me he treated you wrong; this fucking proves it. Wouldn't have taken fucking much for you to have said fuck you and joined the Aurors instead, would have it?"

"Um, Moody, you're delirious," Barty pointed out. He was doing his best not to look at the gruesome gut wound, but he was having serious issues restraining himself.

"I'm not delirious, Crouch. I'm dying, and you're the only one around, so you have to fucking listen to me," Mad-Eye corrected. "I'm old, and this is how this shit works, dammit. Look, tell Kingsley I want you in the Aurors. Don't fucking interrupt me, Crouch. I don't give a shit what you fucking think about that. You're going to be an Auror, dammit, whether you like it or not. I already suggested it to him, so he'd know it's my fucking words. 'Sides, any idiot, take Black, for instance, could tell you should be an Auror. Oh, and get that fuckshit back in, too. Kid's liable to go fucking nuts if he just fucking decides to do jackshit with the rest of his life." After coughing again, Mad-Eye corrected himself, "No—get him in the fucking DoM. His dumbfuck of a father would have wanted that. Fucking idiots. Can't ever fucking say what they fucking mean. 'Rion was the king of the fuckwits."

Barty started to feel ever more awkward. Mad-Eye was lecturing him as he died about Sirius now. In addition to the order to join the Aurors. What was next? "Moody, hey, you should conserve your strength. You're badly injured," Barty tried to reason.

"I told you, I'm fucking dying. You can't fucking pull the wool over my eyes," he snapped. "Now go off and make sure Meadowes doesn't fucking get herself killed." He winced and coughed up blood again. "I don't need a death watch, Crouch. You killed the bastard that got me; that's fucking good enough."

Barty grimaced and looked down for a moment. When he looked up, Moody was gone. "Give'em hell, you old bastard," he murmured. The coot deserved some peace.

Standing, Barty left the room and ran in the direction he figured the other Order members had gone. As he turned a corner, he smacked into Dorcas. She cursed as the two of them fell onto the floor. "Goddammit, Crouch, watch where you're going," Dorcas growled.

"Fuck, Dorcas," Barty muttered. With a sigh, he admitted, "Moody's dead. MacNair caught him in the gut with an awful cutting curse."

Dorcas grimaced and said, "Goddamn. I was counting on him to make sure these kids got the hell out of here." She gestured behind her, and two girls scampered over. Reg's daughter and Sirius's spawn. "Apparently Reg got the brilliant idea to fight Bellatrix."

"Lovegood and that blond kid are in the Director's office. I figure it's safe enough, especially if you and I put a ward on it," Barty mentioned. Now that he'd found Dorcas, they could put a ward on the door that prevented a Death Eater from entering. He hadn't been able to only because he was one.

Dorcas considered that option for a moment before she said, "Good idea." They took the kids back to that office, taking a detour around the laboratory. When they reached the hall, Barty heard voices. Dorcas stiffened and whispered, "Doholov's there."

Barty froze and whispered back, "I know he killed Fabian, Dorcas, but there are kids in there. Their safety's first, remember?" Dorcas glared at him and stalked off towards the door. Barty turned to the two girls and told them to stay where they were before following Dorcas. She was on the opposite side of the door from Barty. Dorcas nodded, and Barty opened the door. Some random idiot walked out, and Dorcas stunned him without thinking.

"Surrender or I'll kill the kids," Doholov announced. Sharing a glance with Dorcas, Barty walked through the door, his hands in the air. The look on Doholov's face was priceless. "Crouch? You're alive?" he said, stunned.

"Yeah, I am. Now let the kids go," Barty growled. Doholov was using the blond kid as a shield with his wand at the kid's neck. Luna was cowering behind the desk, tied up by an _incarcerous_. "They've nothing to do with this."

Doholov raised an eyebrow and realized cuttingly, "Then it is true that you've turned traitor. What, did Black finally let you in his pants?" Barty wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off that bastard's face.

Dorcas took the opportunity to disarm Doholov, who let go of the blond kid to grab his wand out of midair. Barty dragged the blond kid behind him and trained his wand on Doholov. Apparently forgetting that Dorcas would be shooting to kill, Doholov cast _silencio_ at Barty. Dorcas cast a cross-hatched group of cutting curses at Doholov and shouted, "I hope you burn in hell, you bastard!"

Doholov finally seemed to recognize Dorcas and said, "Meadowes. I thought we killed you. No matter. I'll kill you like I killed Prewett. You two were engaged, weren't you?"

Dorcas didn't answer Doholov and instead cast more cutting curses. Barty used the opportunity to get the kid out of the room and thus the line of fire. Luna, thankfully, was still hiding behind the desk and was thus out of harm's way.

Doholov sent curses in Dorcas's direction, and she retreated out the door. Doholov followed her. When he was over the threshold of the door, Dorcas stopped dodging and AK'd him. She spat on the corpse and muttered, "And that's why you never fuck with me or mine." Louder, she called, "Minions, come here." The two girls hesitantly walked over. The blond kid was clinging to him again. Deadly serious, Dorcas said to Barty, "We need to get these kids in the room. We can make sure the wards are good enough that they'll be safe."

Macha had stopped in front of the door and was staring at Doholov's corpse. Dorcas noticed and stepped in front of the girl. "Don't look," she counseled gently. "Just get inside with your cousin." Gemma had already run in and was helping Luna out of the ropes. Macha ran in, which left the blond kid.

Barty grimaced and tried to get the kid to let go. He knelt down in front of the kid and was about to try and calm him down. Alas, the only result of that was for the kid to stop clinging to his leg and locked his arms around Barty's neck again. Sighing, Barty picked the kid up and carried him into the office. Dorcas shut the door behind them after kicking the stunned Death Eater's legs out from the doorway. Luna jumped up all of a sudden and exclaimed, "The Kangaroo!" before tackling Dorcas.

Barty tried not to laugh and mentioned, "On the bright side, at least the kids have confidence in us." Except maybe the blond boy, who wouldn't stop shaking. However, the kid had just seen a man die, albeit a man who had threatened to kill him.

Dorcas rolled her eyes and explained to the kids, "Here's the deal. We're going to ward the door against DE's, okay? You'll be really safe in here. We'd stay here with you guys, but we have to go help fight. And, yes, Macha, we're going to go kick Bellatrix's ass as fast as we can." She looked at each of the girls to make sure they understood. To Barty, she said, "Come on, we have to go."

Barty nodded and tried to put the kid down, but clearly adrenaline had given the kid superhuman strength, because he was having real issues prying the kid off of him. "C'mon, kid. We'll come back. You'll be fine, all right? Don't worry about it," Barty said reassuringly.

Dorcas walked over and told the kid, "John, we need to go. We'll come back, all right?" The blond kid relaxed a bit, and Dorcas smiled broadly. "That's it. Everything's going to be okay," she continued. Barty set the kid down, and he and Dorcas left the room.

Outside, Barty laid down the basic wards, and Dorcas added all of the more complicated and Death Eater-specific wards. When they were finished, Dorcas tested the ward by tossing Doholov's corpse at it. It fizzed a bit before throwing the body at the opposite wall. "I think it works," Dorcas declared, satisfied. To Barty, she said, "I still need to kill that fucking snake. You go after more DE's. I had to take the kids a long way around; Greyback's around here somewhere. Be careful." After a pause, Dorcas said, "Good luck."

Barty nodded and replied, "You, too," and watched as Dorcas raced off. He found himself hoping they'd both make it through this, strangely enough.

Best not to think about it.

* * *

Dorcas was not going to think. Nope. No thinking. No thinking. Dodge a curse, send one back, but no thinking. (God, it pained her to lie to those children. Knowing Bellatrix, Regulus and Sirius were probably dead.) Oh, look. Lucy. Dorcas had the sword in one hand and her wand in the other. She swung the sword at a random Death Eater and managed to nick the carotid. On the downswing, the sword impaled Lucy's foot. Dorcas stunned Narcissa's husband and then rushed off to the next group of people.

There were pairs of dueling witches and wizards all over the Hall. Aside from Moody, Dorcas had only seen one other Order fatality. Mundungus had been killed at some point. Rudolphus was fighting Tonks. Bellatrix was attacking a pair of teenage girls. She _crucio_'d the brown-haired one and turned on the redhead.

Molly Weasley shouted something that ended in "bitch" at the lunatic before going nuclear on her. Dorcas glanced around for her two idiot friends, but she only saw Remus fighting Greyback. Barty was over that way, too. Kingsley had stunned a Death Eater just as Rudolphus caused Tonks to go down. Kingsley then went after Rudolphus.

Dorcas turned around suddenly and accidentally knocked her elbow into Frank and Alice's boy. She felt a twinge of guilt for potentially breaking the kid's nose and was about to tell him to get the fuck out of there when the fucking Dark Lord showed up. To the kid, Neville, his name was, Dorcas ordered, "Take this sword. That snake needs decapitating." She gave him the sword and pointed him towards the snake.

Ignoring the rest of the chaos, she went to go challenge Voldemort. But Voldemort got to Harry first.

* * *

"Harry! Harry, wake up!"

Harry blinked his eyes and found himself on the ground in a fluorescent white train station. It kind of looked like King's Cross, now that he thought about it. His mother was sitting on a bench next to him, smiling. "I'm dead? I thought I—" Harry started.

"No, dear, you're just in limbo for a bit," Lily explained. "I'd be far less happy to see you if Voldemort had … Well, let's just not think about that." She laughed as she remembered, "Oh, and your father wanted to say hello. James was rather upset he wasn't making this trip. I think he wanted to quote Kipling and Shakespeare at you, though, so you can imagine his advice. 'To thine own self be true,' and the rest of it." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. His mother. Was here. Talking to him. "Don't worry, Harry. Everything will be all right. I'm sure you've heard the prophecy by now," Lily continued.

Harry nodded and managed to reply, "Yeah. Something about the power the Dark Lord knows not and that only I can defeat him."

Lily nodded. " 'Only one can live while the other survives,' " she quoted. Shaking her head, she mentioned, "You've had your path made easier, Harry. So much easier. Sirius and Regulus helped the best they could: they made Voldemort almost mortal. This was the last thing that needed to happen. When I sacrificed myself, I protected you with the power of eighties pop music, as your father is wont to call it, but part of Voldemort's soul was lodged in your scar. That's why you're here. Voldemort killed part of himself when he tried to kill you."

Harry considered what his mother said and realized, "So I'm effectively going to come back to life and scare everyone? I'll be like a zombie? Or Jesus? Or a zombie Jesus?"

Lily clearly restrained herself from hitting her forehead with her hand. "James said the exact same thing. Please don't mention that to Sirius, for the love of God. Not just for his guilt issues, either," Lily requested. "Actually, for that matter, don't say anything to Remus, either."

Harry felt a story coming on, so he sat on the bench next to his mother. She looked melancholy as she explained, "Peter was a good friend, once upon a time. You know, part of the reason Sirius got hit so hard by the betrayal was because Peter was the one he trusted with the things he couldn't tell James, back when they'd been in school." She shook her head. "Your father and I have made our peace with what had happened. Peter had been scared, and he ended up clinging to the side he thought would win the war. He chose poorly."

With a sigh, Lily continued, still on the topic of friends, "I'm glad you have Ron and Hermione. They'd probably die for you, you know that? And I know you're enough like your father that you'd likely do the same for them. Don't lose that. If you get in a fight with either of them, make sure to reconcile. I didn't give my best friend a second chance once. It was the stupidest mistake I ever made." Looking down at her hands, she mentioned, "And that brings me to the message portion of this one-sided discussion. Your father (and I, really) would like you to tell Remus and your idiot godfather that they weren't at fault and that we don't blame them for what happened. I would also appreciate it if you told Severus the same. He really needs to get on with his life. Auriga clearly wants to get in his pants, and I have no idea why he hasn't made a move on her in the past couple years or so. I mean, she's clearly fond of him. That's what Auriga throwing things at you means."

Harry's eyes were wide as saucers. He really wished he did not understand what his mother had just told him. "Professor Sinistra? And Professor Snape…?" he repeated in horror.

Lily laughed and said, "Oh, you should have seen Sirius back in the day when he was trying to ask Artemesia out on a date. It was pure comedy gold. I swear. Oh, and that reminds me—Reg. Poor guy. He blames himself for what happened with Peter, too. Although, from what I've found out, his hands were tied the whole time for quite frankly bizarre reasons. Thankfully, he and Sirius can deal with the rest of their issues later. I do not even want to touch that."

"Sirius is okay? I mean, a lot of—"

"I know," Lily murmured. "Moody died. He was a good man. However, most of the casualties are Death Eaters. You have your godmother to thank for that. Both she and Crouch can be terrifying sometimes. Speaking of, tell her that I wish the two of them well with whatever it is they have. Your father and I both hope they'll end up meeting a nice man. But, yes, Sirius is okay. Bellatrix got him in the knee with a blasting curse, so he'll be on crutches for a while. Oh, and while you've been rebelling against The Man, your godfather did actually manage to gain custody from Petunia. Keep in touch with her, though, would you? I know I'm dumping a lot on you, but just trust me. I've enough regrets to know what I'd have done differently. Also, this is my only chance to give you motherly advice." She smiled sadly and mentioned, "Your father and I are so proud of you, Harry, and we love you so much."

"I love you, too, Mum," Harry replied as she hugged him. "Wait, am I going now?"

Lily smiled through tears and nodded. "You've your whole life ahead of you, Harry. Make the most of it," she advised before grinning. "And I suppose that Ginny girl is acceptable."

Harry realized what his mother had told him before everything whited-out and he woke.

* * *

Regulus could barely breathe because his chest hurt so much. Sirius had thankfully realized Regulus was still alive after tripping over him in his rush to go kill Bellatrix despite his currently useless right knee. The ensuing bear-hug had made Regulus almost pass out in pain. Bellatrix had been fond of blasting curses today, apparently, and while Sirius had been hit in the knee, Regulus had caught one in the chest.

The two of them were more or less trying to complete a three-legged race to the Hall of Prophecy, where all the fighting seemed to be going down. It had been Sirius's idea, so Regulus figured that when Dorcas asked them what they had been smoking, he could blame Sirius. "Reggie, you sure you're all right?" Sirius asked as he leaned on his younger brother. "Look, I can hop like a fucked-up flamingo into the other room. You, on the other hand—"

"Sirius, shut up. Walk. Please," Regulus managed. The faster he could lie down again, the better. Sirius's occasional stopping and going was not helping.

By the time they reached the door to the Hall of Prophecy, the sounds of fighting had died down. The sight that greeted them when Sirius opened the door was one that they would both likely remember for the rest of their lives, for good or ill. "Oh, look, Voldemort's dead," Sirius observed.

Regulus responded by passing out.

He woke some time later on a stretcher next to Tonks of all people. She seemed perfectly fine, judging by her complaining. Regulus groaned in pain when he sat up, but he felt marginally better than he had before.

"I'm supposed to tell you that you're not allowed to move," Tonks mentioned brightly. With the wave of nausea that hit him, Regulus was inclined to agree with her. "We didn't have anyone medically inclined around, so we had to resort to my codeine pills. Hence why I'm not really moving, either, but that's also due to dear Aunt Bella being an evil bitch."

After taking her advice and lying back down, Regulus asked, "Dead?"

Tonks looked grimly satisfied as she replied, "Yep. As a doornail. Molly nailed her, coincidentally. Bellatrix shouldn't have tried to hurt Ginny. Dorcas managed to get a number of people, too, like Doholov. And Kingsley stunned almost twice as many. I, on the other hand, was only good for getting fucked up." Tonks considered her words and revised, "Nah. I did help those kids find Dorcas. That reminds me: apparently Sirius's brother isn't dead. Weird shit, huh?"

"Really?" Regulus said. Of course. Did he expect more from the rest of the family? Obviously he shouldn't have. That said, he really needed to stop talking.

"Yeah. I always liked him, so it's good news," Tonks explained.

Regulus felt oddly touched. As he stared at his cousin's daughter, still feeling stunned, he murmured, "Thanks, Nymphadora."

Tonks didn't seem to have heard him as she continued, "So you're stuck with me and the kid here. Apparently he _also_ got screwed up by Bellatrix. We're one big fucked-up family, aren't we? I mean, in a metaphorical sense. Not a real sense. 'Cause—Actually, are we related? We could be. I mean, shit's weird amongst purebloods, at least according to Mum."

"'S me, Regulus. Sirius's brother?" he attempted again. "I'd explain—" He broke off as his chest twinged with pain again. The causation was simple: he spoke, and his chest hurt like hell. Therefore, he should stop talking. Was he going to, though? Probably not.

Tonks stared at him for a moment before she decided, "That makes sense. But then… What the fuck is wrong with Sirius?"

"List's too long," Regulus replied with a smile.

Tonks laughed.

Regulus laughed with her, at least to the best of his ability. It was kind of pathetic, to be honest. But Voldemort was dead, so who gave a shit? Regulus glanced off to the side and saw Sirius hugging Harry like there was no tomorrow. Gemma was standing off to the side with Luna, who seemed to be trying to cheer her up. The blond kid seemed to refuse to let go of Barty, for some bizarre reason. Holy shit, that kid looked like him. And Dorcas. Oh, dear God, they had a child? Distracted, Regulus only registered Macha's presence when she more or less jumped on him and exclaimed, "Daddy!"

Despite the sheer agony of Macha putting half her weight on his chest, Regulus managed to smile and said, "Hey, baby girl. Are you all right?" Sure, talking hurt like hell, but his daughter was worth it by far.

"You might want to step off your dad, cuz," Tonks suggested, more than happy to interrupt. "He's not doing too hot. Evil Auntie Bella kicked both our asses."

"I'm sorry for running off!" Macha exclaimed, crying and clinging to her father for dear life. "I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"It's not your fault, Macha," Regulus murmured, wrapping his arm around her. "It's not." God, how could his kid think any of this was her fault? All of this was completely out of her control. Sure, he had been scared shitless when he found her (and her cousin) facing Bellatrix, but even that wasn't remotely in her control. He was admittedly upset that she had decided to follow Potter and the others here, but that was only because she could have been hurt. Oh, God, he would have never forgiven himself if she had been hurt. "Just please don't put yourself in danger like this ever again, all right?" Regulus asked, trying not to let her know how badly he had been shaken. "I'm really not angry, Macha. Really. Jesus, I'm just so glad you're safe."

Macha continued to cry, but Regulus honestly hadn't expected anything else. She was eleven and had unwittingly walked into a war-zone. He was going to have some serious words with his brother's godson about this. Potter may have defeated Voldemort, but the good will from that only went so far.

Regulus took a deep breath to calm down. He was overreacting; he knew that, but this was his _daughter_. Vesta was probably going to go nuclear when she found out about this. Not only had he gone and gotten himself fucked up again, which she would have been only mildly surprised by, but Macha's involvement would send her through the roof. It was probably his fault. After all, he had been cavalier with—But neither Macha nor Leo knew about that, did they? Well, he had more likely than not done something that… It was his fault, wasn't it? If it wasn't, then maybe this was what Vesta meant when they argued. Maybe some of the things that had gone wrong in his life really had been out of his control. Then he wasn't to blame for so many things, but… He couldn't let himself off the hook like that. He just couldn't. Not now. Maybe one day he'd be able to let the pain and the guilt go, but he knew, whether he liked it or not, that was part of who he was. That said, while he might not do right by himself, he would make sure he did right by his kids. And Vesta. God, he didn't deserve her, but he was damned glad she thought he did.

"Dad? Why are you crying?" Macha asked as she wiped her own tears away.

"I'm fine, baby girl, really," he replied, trying to smile. "I'm just happy that you're all right." He might not have told her the whole truth, but she didn't need to know the rest.

Regulus noticed Tonks looking at him with a worried expression. "Hey, squirt, you might want to let your dad rest for a bit," she suggested.

Macha bit her lip and seemed to realize just how awful a way her father was in. He was going to contradict Tonks despite the fact that her proposal was so very appealing at the moment, but Macha decided, "I should go check on John. You don't mind, do you, Dad?" She was clearly uncertain when she sought confirmation from her father, but Regulus had noticed that she did want to go see her friends and double-check that they were okay.

"It's fine, Macha. Don't worry," Regulus replied. Still a bit nervous, his daughter smiled and then wandered off.

"Seriously, you look like you need some sleep," Tonks reiterated. "I wasn't kidding."

Regulus glanced at her. The expression she had on made him admit to himself that maybe she wasn't being pushy enough about that. Hell, he did feel like he'd been run over. "Didn't think you were," he replied. Tonks seemed content with that response.

Some time later, Regulus woke again in the hospital. Judging by the fact that the paint on the ceiling was fascinating, he figured he was on some rather effective painkillers. Moving, however, was still a Bad Plan.

"Reg, would it really kill you to take a break every so often?" his brother inquired, clearly amused. The royal pain was loitering in a chair next to his bed. Apparently he had required medical attention, not that Sirius paid attention to him the first time Regulus said so despite the face-plant from tripping over him.

"Yes. It would."

Sirius ignored him. "I mean, do you have any idea how fucked up all this shit's been?" he continued. "A year ago, I was living off rats, for God's sake. And you were doing _normal person things_. Now… Voldemort's dead. And apparently Lily's annoyed at us for thinking everything's our fault. Harry had a conversation with her when he temporarily not amongst the living."

"Huh."

"And Gemma took the whole I'm her dad thing really well. Fuck if I know why."

"She's idolized the idea of you her whole life, and when it turned out you actually lived up to her standards, of course she's going to take it well," Regulus muttered, wishing his brother would go away and leave him in peace. Alas, it was not to be. Also, Sirius still wasn't listening to him at all. "She found some pictures of you and Artemesia years ago, hence the rest of it."

Sirius may have been listening, since he grinned like a loon when Artemesia's name was mentioned. Regulus started to wonder how long he'd been unconscious and if he still was. "Guess what," Sirius stated, living up to his name—acting like an overexcited dog, that was, not the homophone. Regardless, Regulus was not going to play this game. Thankfully, Sirius just got to the point and said, "So, um, 'Sia dropped by, and I, uh,—"

"Congratulations. Welcome to the world of crazy in-laws. Also, it took you damn long enough," Regulus interjected. "Now go away. I'm exhausted, and you're way too happy."

Sirius laughed and mentioned, "You say that like it's a bad thing, Reggie."

He glared in response and explained, "There are giraffes dancing on the ceiling. I'm not in my happy place right now."

"You really need to find some painkillers that don't make you hallucinate, little brother," Sirius advised, more amused than he needed to be.

With a sigh, Regulus rephrased, "Sirius, I really am happy that you finally asked Artemesia to marry you, and I will be more than willing to discuss every little detail of what happened what I assume was today later, but I really, really feel like shit right now."

"Oh, shit, that reminds me. Andy told me to tell you that any pain you're still feeling is because of her fixing up the mess Bellatrix made. Apparently more than a couple ribs got broken, and your chest's going to be a black and blue mess for a while," Sirius reported. So there was a reason Regulus had been subjected to an obnoxiously happy Sirius.

"That's just lovely," he grumbled. On the bright side, at least he hadn't had to re-grow any bones. Regulus had taken enough Skele-Gro for one lifetime.

With a grin, Sirius mentioned, "It could have been worse. God, who knows. There could be some twisted alternate universe where we both kicked it, and everyone had to rely on Harry to destroy all the horcruxes."

"Oh, God, why did you put that idea in my head? You do realize he would have had to break into Gringotts? And he probably wouldn't have known not to go after the locket? Shit, if things got bad enough, he might have even gone on the run with his friends and camping out in the wilderness for ages. I can see Longbottom still killing the snake, though," Regulus admitted.

"Lemme guess: years and years back, you had a freaky dream where all that happened and thus set out to prevent it?" his brother joked.

"Yeah, Sirius. That's exactly it. I didn't want Bellatrix to kill you or Severus to be forced to kill Dumbledore, so I subconsciously fucked up committing suicide by proxy. You got me."

Sirius was confused. "Snape killing Dumbledore? Where the hell did that come from?"

"That's the part you think is crazy? Really, Sirius?"

Suppressing a laugh, Sirius shrugged. Damn, that had been misdirection to cheer him up, hadn't it? Regulus couldn't really find it in him to be annoyed, though. Sirius then mentioned, "In any case, Reggie, Vesta wanted to know the moment you woke up, so I should get going…"

Grimly, Regulus replied, "That's probably a good idea."

"Don't look so depressed, bro. She's just glad you're all right," Sirius said. Apparently Regulus didn't look like he believed him, so Sirius repeated gently, "Really, Reg. She's not angry. Trust me, I'd have told you if she were angry, and if there were a time for her to be pissed off at you for doing reckless shit, that would have been ages ago."

Regulus only smiled wanly, so Sirius ruffled his hair and went to go fetch Vesta. She rushed in only moments later, and before Regulus could apologize for everything, Vesta embraced him and said, "I'm so glad you're all right. Oh, God, when I heard about what had happened at the Ministry, I thought…"

"I—I'm sorry," Regulus murmured. He still felt thrown off-balance despite the fact that Sirius had told him Vesta wasn't angry. "I didn't mean to have—I mean, I'm sorry for worrying you. I—uh, is Macha back at school?"

"You're a bloody fool, you know that?" Vesta said, sounding upset and some other emotion he couldn't quite identify. "She told me you stood up to Bellatrix."

"She was threatening Macha. Of course I did," Regulus replied, slightly hurt that Vesta thought he wouldn't have. Granted, he had expected her instead to be angry that he had fought Bellatrix, not whatever this was.

"Regulus, a year ago, you might not have been able to," Vesta tried to explain. Regulus was about to protest, so she continued, "Hear me out." Hesitantly, she started, "I know you well enough to tell that you—you've never really been able to recover from… Well, from everything. But, this year, you—God, why is this so hard to say?"

"I don't know?" he replied, equally confused. He still would have stood up to Bellatrix then. Although… the results of that would have been slightly different. He would have been stuck in the same spot he had been in initially by the time Sirius came rushing in to save him. Regulus could admit that, but when had something changed? Hell, he'd—Holy shit, he had actually fought her. Maybe he shouldn't mention that he used the Cruciatus, though.

Looking vexed because she couldn't explain herself, Vesta finally admitted, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm—I don't mean this in a patronizing way, just… I'm proud of you." Vesta bit her lip and continued, sounding tense, "You finally stood up to her."

"But it doesn't change anything," Regulus protested, referring to the last and completely missing her point. "I'm still just as fucked up as before. What she did is still going to haunt me for the rest of my life." And then he processed the other part of what she said. "Wait. But… Why aren't you mad at me? I almost got myself _and_ our daughter killed! Why are you… how can…"

Vesta sighed and reminded him, "Macha has a mind of her own, and I am angry with her at the moment. However: don't you understand that this is different? A battle is different from your incomprehensible habit of attempting suicide by proxy? God, Regulus, of course I was angry when you went off and were hurt at those damn meetings! I was angry that you were trying to throw your life away again and again! But I understand why you did it; I know that you were just trying to do the right thing and that you were trying to make up for things you thought you were responsible for." Vesta looked down and wiped away tears before she continued, "It just hurt that you didn't seem to care about what would happen if you died. I know it's selfish, but I did not and never want to be forced to imagine a life without you." With a self-derisive laugh, she sobbed, "God, I sound like such an idiot."

"You don't," Regulus murmured. He should say more, shouldn't he? Of course he should, but what—what was there to say? He couldn't even think straight. No, he should be apologizing, apologizing like there was no tomorrow. He hated himself for all of that. He really did. He was a reckless, self-absorbed bastard, and he knew it. So why the hell couldn't he say anything? "You really don't," he repeated, cursing himself for his cowardice. He didn't deserve to feel like he was falling apart. What right did he have to think otherwise? He braced himself and finally managed, "I just—I don't understand why you—why you don't hate me. I deserve it. God, I more than deserve it. I'm so sorry. I can't even tell you how much I want to take it all back. I don't know why I didn't think about you or… Oh, God, I'm so sorry." He was just so weak. He couldn't even be strong enough to reassure his wife that what she said made more sense than anything he could manage. No, his mind just went blank, and then he would break down. He didn't mean to make all of it worse. He just…

They were silent for a long moment before Vesta looked at him with an expression on her face that he couldn't bear to see. "Regulus, look at me," she said, her voice unyielding. He did as asked, and then she continued, her voice breaking, "I know. I know you, remember? You've always been so hard on yourself, but please stop. Just this once? You did the right thing. You're fine, and the war's over. And you know what? In the end, what ifs don't amount to anything, because, God damn it all, we won." Vesta was smiling despite the tears.

"You know I love about you more than anything, right?" Regulus asked, wishing he didn't feel like he needed to ask. After all, he already knew the answer.

"Of course I know," Vesta said, smiling earnestly. "And I love you just as much." She kissed him (he admittedly prolonged said kiss as long as he could because why the hell not) before she said with a grin, "Now cheer up. I think your brother's waiting not-so-patiently outside to discuss things. God knows Artemesia's practically bouncing off the walls."

Regulus smiled, in better spirits. Damn, she was amazing. Also, Vesta had made a very good point. There were now more important things to worry about. Like dodging the impending—No. He was not going to have any part of that. "Please can't we just be alone for a while?" Regulus whined. "I don't want to have to talk about the stag part—Oh, God, he's going to make puns. You aren't going to leave me to that, are you? Him and Lupin making bad puns about the elder Potter? Shit, they're going to make me arrange the damn thing, too. You know what, fuck it. If they do, we're going to Vegas, and if they get us locked on the roof of Caesar's Palace, it's their own damned faults."

Vesta laughed and reminded him, "I thought that's what happened when Hermes arranged your bachelor party?"

"I was trying not to think about it."

With a wry smile, Vesta said, "Oh, come on, honey. How bad can it get?"

Regulus didn't even need to consider the question. He simply said, "We're doomed." Vesta laughed, and Regulus realized something.

He was happy. He really was.

* * *

**_Coming Soon_**_: All good things..._


	62. Epilogue: I Would Walk 500 Miles

"Grandad, why do you always read stories with kissing parts?"

"Because, kid, all the good ones have them. Do you want me to finish the book or not?"

"…yes."

"All right. Now where was I? Oh, here we were: 'And so Voldemort was defeated. There were many deaths that day, on the side of good and on the side of evil. Thankfully, there were more on the latter. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all emerged unscathed, as did most of their friends. There were good men and women who died, but the three made sure they were remembered until the end of time.'

"And everyone lived happily ever after. The End," I said, closing the book.

My son's son stared at me indignantly and demanded, "But what happened to everyone else? Did they just leave it there? I mean, what about Dorcas and Barty and Sirius and Remus?"

I should have expected the question. I did, after all, abridge the ending. In reply, I said, "Well, if I remember correctly, Dorcas and Barty did each find a nice man. In Australia, now that I think about it. They were very fond of that continent. Sirius, as you can guess, married Artemesia, and the two of them were very happy. Remus continued to be a wet blanket, but he did find happiness. He just retained his ability to be a wet blanket."

"Grandad! I meant everyone else, too!"

"I was getting to them. You children have no patience these days. Anyway. I'm sure you can guess that Ron and Hermione married eventually, as did Harry and Ginny. Although, Harry was never too pleased that he ended up related to Draco Malfoy by marriage. (Draco's son ended up Harry's son-in-law. It's a very long story.) Does that satisfy your curiosity?" I inquired. Of course it wouldn't, but I had to ask. The kid was pretty adorable when flustered.

The kid, however, only shot me a disappointed look, so I continued, "So. Oh, right. Luna became a naturalist, last I checked, and she and Longbottom went off exploring the world, looking for new animals and plants, respectively. Longbottom ended up teaching Herbalism at Hogwarts eventually. (Oh, I forgot! Remus ended up getting the Defense Against the Dark Arts job back; he and Snape co-taught it for a long time.) John never figured out who his biological parents were to the confusion of his adopted siblings. And everyone else, really. Macha eventually realized she cared for him, and I think they ended up together."

"Awesome," the Kid declared.

"Exactly. Now go the fuck to sleep," I replied fondly.

"G'night, Grandad! Love you!" he said, snuggling under the covers.

"Love you, too, squirt," I replied, turning the lights off and shutting the door.

My son and daughter-in-law were back from the function they'd been attending, thank heaven, so I said my goodbyes (and customary insult exchange with the Redheaded Fury) and went to work.

The bar was hopping, as usual, and I was glad that my second-in-command could handle things when I was gone. I ran through more assistants that way. I never could stand incompetence, after all. In any case, the story got me thinking. Oh, I hadn't mentioned a good number of things, but my grandson didn't need to hear the rest of the story.

Regulus was still a mopey fool, but he and Vesta managed to make things work. After the war was over, they'd moved back to America, as planned. While St. Mungo's was great, her permanent appointment was at the best hospital in the world, so it only made sense to move back. Regulus was more suited to the life of an academic, in any case. And he liked Baltimore.

Sirius had ended up working for the Department of Mysteries, mostly because of Moody's dying requests to Crouch and partly because the Aurors still wouldn't take him back. By the end of the decade, Sirius was running the place. Apparently the former director was glad to have what she deemed a suitable replacement. He and Artemesia really did live happily ever after, though. They still make gooey-eyes at each other more frequently than I think is necessary. Their kids turned out all right, too. Peter ended up an Auror, I think. Gemma went in the opposite direction and tried to find a way to merge science and magic. More power to her. Their cousins were also successful. Macha ended up a politician, and Leo a journalist. I don't quite know how either of them got there, but they did.

Speaking of Slytherins, Snape ended up roped into unholy matrimony with Sinistra. He apparently figured out after another couple years that her throwing a coffee cup at him really meant, "I love you." Hey, at least it wasn't "As you wish." Thanks to Narcissa's politicking, Lucius managed to stay out of Azkaban, although Rudolphus Lestrange did end up dying in the prison. Sirius tried to keep his word, but the Wizengamot wouldn't hear a word of it. That said, they did reform the wizard prison and get rid of the dementors thanks to a large and anonymous monetary donation (they had an idea who was bribing them; Vesta had been right about that after all). I don't think the kid Renaud ever figured out why Lestrange stopped Bellatrix from killing him, but some things are better left unsaid. I think Rudolphus left all the Lestrange assets to the kid, though. It might have been because Renaud used to visit him every so often, trying to figure out why Rudolphus had done what he had.

As to Dorcas and Barty, they did end up living out their days as platonic life-partners. Though that part I told the Kid about them marrying two Australians was true. Their adventures in Aussieland are things of legend, let me tell you.

"Hey, Barkeep! What kept you?"

I turned towards the voice and grinned. "Let me guess: one whiskey, one jägerbomb, a Coke, and the most alcoholic thing in the place because fuck your high metabolism?" I replied.

Sirius grinned and said, "What else would we be ordering?"

I shrugged. Dorcas changed her mind every five seconds (it was a jägerbomb this week), but Regulus was as regular as the tide. And Remus never got blasted on anything less than the strongest thing in the place. "Dunno. Maybe you'd be original for once," I replied.

"Original? Us? That's a bit rich, coming from you," Remus mentioned with a smile.

"Well, nobody's perfect," I commented blithely.

"Would you just get the drinks?" Regulus pleaded. Apparently they had started early today. Sirius normally took a couple hours to drive his brother up a wall.

I rolled my eyes and mentioned, "I'll get _them_ their drinks. I'm still kinda annoyed at you for comparing me to Voldemort that one time."

"Oh, come on!" Regulus protested. "That was ages ago!"

Sirius laughed and mentioned, "You know, this is why I like celebrating the end of the war here. You always say the funniest shit."

I grinned and handed them all their drinks (even Regulus; that kid took everything way too seriously). "Well, a toast to absent friends," I said, grabbing my gin and tonic.

"To absent friends!"

Later on, everyone was sufficiently smashed to start up a refrain of Auld Lang Syne. Dorcas was out of key, Remus was incoherent because of his brogue, and Sirius didn't know half the words, leaving Regulus to carry the tune. I smiled at the collective good spirits. Everyone here all had cause to celebrate the end of the war and fondly remember the friends long gone.

So, yeah. Despite our trials, we really did live happily ever after. You could say, for instance, "All was well."

THE END

* * *

_**Notes**: It took five years, but this story is finally finished. When I started it, I was in high school, looking forward to college, and when I completed the last couple chapters, I was in graduate school. There was a long break in the middle where I didn't write for a year, and I apologize to all of you who have been following this story since the beginning. It was a tough year for me, and I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. Anyway, I hope you all have enjoyed reading this fic as much as I did writing it, despite the cheese-filled epilogue. Thank you all for reading this far and a big thank you to all who reviewed. It meant the world to me to know people who weren't my beta-reader enjoyed reading. My parting words may be a bit cliché, but I'm fairly certain I'm required by my original fandom to say them. May the Force be with you. Always. (...Yeah, I had to say it. It's like a law or something, and I couldn't think of any other benediction.)_

_-seirios aster_


End file.
